Kings and Sweetmeats
by lena1987
Summary: Now complete. Bard x OC. Anne of Dorwinion serves the King of Dale, creating fine works of sugared beauty that are said to warm the blood and feed the soul. Will her creations warm the heart of a man who once believed his own to be truly lost? A simple love story, utilising the alternate ending that all survive after BOtFA.
1. Chapter 1

**_T__A 2945, Dale_**

I first met the King of Dale on a cold afternoon. Winter had begun to sink its teeth into the city, spreading itself over the golden coloured buildings that still smelled of fresh plaster and paint.

It had dawned on me that the warmth I craved was most often found in my own place of work and so I rarely left it - a small room in the kitchens that served what others might call the palace and what I would always simply call the royal house. For me it was a house, compared to the riches my mother had spoken of in the East, of sprawling wings for this and that, and entire kitchens for the work she did.

My mother was, as I am today, a confectioner. A maker of sweets, of sugared fruits, of edible art. My work space was tiny compared to the rest of the kitchen, but I treasured it. It was warm, safe, but most of all it was mine.

My bench was small because my profession still raised an eyebrow amongst the inhabitants of Dale. "A confectioner?" they'd ask with narrowed eyes. "Our taxes are being paid for a little old woman to make sweets for the King?"

They were wrong on both accounts. The first being that I was old – though to be fair I was not young maiden either. But I had my mother to thank for my still smooth skin that suggested a woman of her early twenties, rather than my own thirty summers.

The second was that I was hired to serve the King sweets. Perhaps, at the most basic level, that was indeed the description of my position, yet I have never served him myself. And sweets! If I had ever heard such a misunderstanding, then that was it. Sugar warms the blood, it feeds the soul. I can't think of anything better to raise the morale of a battered city led by its weathered King.

Tell me how a rose, made entirely of sugar, yet so dainty and life like, is a simple sweet? Tell me how a square of sugar can inspire the smile of a child the way my miniature sculptures of mermaids and birds can when they are cracked open against young Bain's front teeth? Sugar does what the tongue cannot – it speaks without reserve, it lends its happiness without expectation.

Bain is the King's son. I have come to love him, in my own way. At least in the way that a woman of my station can. He darts in with impish grins, swiping a rose petal here, a candied almond there. You'll ruin your teeth, I've told him time and time again, but he retorts that they'll all fall out anyway.

I have never been able to construct an adequate reply to this, considering that I have only seen one older man with all teeth intact and that is the very man Bain calls father. And now we have come full circle.

The King came in when I was covered in powdered sugar. It bloomed around the room when he opened the door and when he stepped in, I still couldn't see my visitor for the sugar that had settled over my eyelashes.

"Out," I ordered and turned back to my mortar and pestle, pounding on the fine grains to create the same powder that now cloaked the room. The intrusion annoyed me - it was a physical job, grinding the sugar, and my forehead was shining, my black hair sticking to it from where it had come out of the loose knot at the top of my head. I could see the fine white powder on my tanned hands and groaned inwardly at the sight I would have been.

"Out," I repeated with a huff as I ground the grains. "Bain, Tilda or Sigrid," I named all of the troublemakers in order of likelihood considering no one else bothered to come to my tiny room. "I'm too busy."

A deep cough startled me and I flinched in surprise at the unexpected sound before gracelessly rubbing my eyes with my sleeve. My cheeks burned brighter when I took in a pair of legs, a fine pair if a woman cared to notice, with clean leather shoes and the beginnings of a rich brown tunic that caused my heart to thud in my chest when I recognised it.

"Your Majesty," I stammered, dropping the pestle. I bobbed down in an awkward curtsy. Too embarrassed to raise my head, I stared resolutely at the floor.

"My apologies, my lady Anne, I do not mean to intrude on your time," the King said.

I heard the blood rushing in my ears at the sound of his voice, a voice that I had never heard. King Bard the Dragon Slayer was a kind and gentle man (by all accounts) but not once had I spoken words with him. He seemed to me to be a man that carried a great weight – not the crown, but something else that had left him to be grim and mostly silent.

"It is no intrusion," I replied and pushed the bowl of sugar aside. I summoned the last of the courage I had and looked up to meet his warm brown eyes, framed by the blackest of lashes. Mentally cursing my choice of dress that day, I picked at my drab brown sleeve awkwardly.

"I came to… I wanted to ask…" his voice reminded me of the smoothest butter and I smiled in spite of my nerves.

"What can I do for you, my King?"

He ducked his head with a rueful grin, having found his words from my prompt. "I wanted to tell you of a great feast we have planned a week from today. With the wood Elves and the mountain Dwarves in attendance."

I'll admit now that my mouth fell open. Not once in my time in Dale had I catered for such an event, though I was well versed in what was required. "A week, sire?"

"Aye," he replied. "I'm sorry, I should have given you more notice," he added, obviously noticing my hands that were now shaking as my mind began to make plans in my head.

I shook my head, waving my hand in the air. It is nothing, I wanted to say. Or, if I were more daring: it would be nothing for you, your Majesty.

"No need to apologise, sire," I settled on. And indeed there wasn't. Who had heard of a King apologising for such a thing? I certainly hadn't.

The King leaned against the wall beside the door, his sharp eyes meeting mine. I felt weak all of a sudden and swallowed, coughing when the sugar in the air tickled my throat.

My face burned even more when I noticed that his shoulders were shaking. "Are you laughing at me?" I asked him, forgetting propriety in my embarrassment.

He pursed his lips but his mouth soon opened again – he _was _laughing! I liked the rich, throaty sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest. I let out an ungraceful snort of my own and brought my hands over my eyes, anything to stop them from watching how his broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath of laughter.

"Forgive me," I said. "I'm new to royal service, my manners aren't what they should be."

"We're all new," he replied when his laughter subsided.

Not knowing what to say, I gave a noncommittal "Aye," and shrugged.

The King cleared his throat and stood away from the wall, his hands clasped behind his back. "I wanted to say that I know your work is much undervalued here. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would create something in honour of our guests."

My mind was already whirling with possibilities. It took me some effort to bring my eyes back to his when I was already seeing candied mountains and trees of sugar bearing miniature fruits glistening with syrup.

I nodded with a wide smile that he returned. My heart thudded again and I laced my own fingers together, trying to anchor myself to the room. "It would be a pleasure."

King Bard leant back against the wall. Silence descended over us, but it didn't seem awkward. "Your grace?" I asked him, taking a step around the bench and towards him, wondering if he had more orders to give me.

"It's very warm in here," he said suddenly, meeting my eyes again.

I didn't know what to say to that. It was warm, when compared to the cold corridors outside but Bard's own chambers would be plenty warm as well. "It is," I said finally and pushed a stray hair out of my eyes.

Bard was silent, but his eyes darted around the small room. He took everything in, from the trays of moulds stacked on shelves on the walls to the cabinets under the bench that I kept locked due to the valuable loaves of sugar inside.

I watched him, feeling confused by his extended presence but not bothered in the slightest. He didn't seem to want to leave and if I thought hard enough, maybe I could understand why. My room was quiet at these times of the day, when the main midday meal had been served and its dishes had already been washed in the kitchen outside.

A part of me wondered whether Bard was like Sigrid, who sometimes came in and perched on one of the tall stools, absentmindedly stirring whatever fruits I had bubbling away in large pots in the corner. The oldest daughter of Bard wouldn't often talk when she was in one of her moods, but I was never one for idle chit chat. I realized with an inward roll of my eyes that of course Bard was like Sigrid, given that he was her father.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked back behind the bench and picked up the pestle.

"The sugar needs grinding," I said and held it out, my hands clammy with shyness but my voice didn't waver.

I wasn't surprised when he took it, but his slow and grateful smile nearly floored me. I pushed the bowl over to him and averted my eyes when he pushed up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing strong forearms underneath, but I wasn't a strong woman so my thoughts strayed often to his pleasing show of skin.

He didn't say a word as he patiently ground the fine grains. I followed his lead and retrieved the plump oranges from a crate near the door, delivered yesterday from the orchards. This year had brought many changes to Dale, one being the ease with which varied fruits grew under the careful eyes of the city gardeners. I knew it was because of the fertile soil that often bordered the Sea of Rhûn, but the new inhabitants of the city swore it was luck brought by their good and honourable King.

Bard didn't ask what I was doing, but I noticed his eyes following my movements as I picked up a knife and settled onto a stool. I began with the easiest design – a small flower, before carving vines into the skin at the base of the fruit and adding in leaves and petals until the whole of the skin was covered with swirling lines.

It was work that calmed me, for I could not take my eyes from the knife, nor my hands from the smooth, round skin. I was indebted to the task for it gave me respite from the man still standing on the other side of the bench, so close that I could smell the rain on his clothes and the scent of earth coming from his skin.

When Bard stood an hour later and nodded his head in farewell, I smiled timidly and thanked him for his help. It was only when he shut the door that I wondered just why he had come all the way down to the kitchens himself to deliver the news of the feast, when absolutely anybody else would have been more suited to the task.

Puzzled, I turned my head to the mortar on the bench. The sugar had been ground perfectly.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you to Lystan for your review, and to those who have followed and favourited the story already! I would absolutely love to read anyone's thoughts on this chapter or any others to come. Who do you think Sigrid is talking about?_**

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Sigrid found me the next day, elbow deep in overripe plums. My short sleeved woolen over dress lay folded on the bench and the sleeves of the brown, light linen dress that I wore underneath it were pushed all the way up to my shoulders. The soft skin of the fruit was easy to peel under my fingers and my arms were beginning to take on an amusing shade of purple.

There were no big pots of preserves to stir, I hadn't had the time, so she started to pull off her own much finer over dress until I realized what her plans were.

I stood up, put my hands on my hips, ready to reprimand her until I cursed at the purple hand prints on my dress.

"This is no task for a lady," I said with a scowl, gesturing to the hand prints as evidence.

Sigrid shrugged. My argument didn't exactly make sense when she had lived most of her life in a way similar to my own, but that didn't stop me from refusing her.

"Are you looking for something to do?" I asked, wishing for once that the royal family I had chosen to serve were articulate and expressive, rather than quiet and serious.

Of course she wasn't. Dale was still being rebuilt and as its princess, Sigrid always had something to do. If she wasn't attending events or representing her father at appointments in the receiving room, she was often to be found on the way to or from Erebor, in the company of the many traders of Dale that had established business with the Kingdom under the Mountain. Sigrid had a talent for detecting honesty, which I suspected came from her father, and she was often a valuable addition in trading discussions.

"No," Sigrid confirmed and sat down heavily on a nearby stool.

I ceased my peeling, assigned myself a well-earned break and washed my hands before sitting beside her. In a practice that had become a habit over the last eight months, I pulled her stool closer and turned her around gently to work my long fingers through her light brown hair. I was no mother to her, would never have assumed that honour given there was only about eleven years between us, but often found in her the comfort to ease the strange loneliness I sometimes felt when I considered that at thirty, I was one of the only women not yet married or busy with bringing new lives into the world.

"Talk, if you wish," I said and stopped for a moment to squeeze her shoulder before continuing to bring the locks together in an Eastern style braid that matched the style I had tied my own hair into that morning.

"You've heard about the Feast next week, then?" Sigrid asked shyly.

"Aye. Though I don't see why that's put you into a mood."

"I thought to ask someone," she replied, so softly that I had to ask her to repeat it.

"And who might that be? Who'd be lucky enough to have your favour?" I asked though I had my suspicions after mentally compiling her hints over the months.

"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't work anyway," she said with a sigh.

I finished the braid and grabbed a small mirror that I kept for this very reason. Young women are so often placated by their beauty, in the most innocent of ways, and Sigrid smiled when she saw the new style I'd worked into her hair. Her heart wasn't in it, that was easy to see, but a smile was the best armour she'd have if she felt alone.

I smiled, too. The sight of her young, beautiful face beside my own was amusing to me. Once I too had the joy of youth, the knowledge that my brown eyes, long black hair, tanned skin and slender curves would carry me places if I wanted them to. Now my face had softness about it, though I was glad for it for it was a testament to my life that had never been full but had made a good attempt to be. In Dorwinion, it was normal to see women like me – darker skin and even darker eyes to match the other half of our blood that came from the Eastern lands of Rhun. I didn't particularly stand out in Dale, either, though I was different enough to have caused a stir when I first joined the King's staff.

"Now," I said, doing my best to put on a serious frown though my attempt sent us both into laughter. "If there's a _someone," _I began, choosing not to say _man _in this case, "out there that's caught your eye, don't you tell me that it wouldn't work. Anyone would be lucky to have a woman like yourself and he'd be a fool not to chase you to Bree and back if that's what it would take to win you for his own."

Sigrid laughed louder, her eyes dancing in the mirror. I set it back down in the drawer of my work bench and went to the cabinets that I kept locked. I pulled the key out from the chain around my neck and dug through the middle shelf before I produced a tiny rose made of sugar.

"Here," I offered it in the center of both of my palms, the way my mother used to when I was a child, the way of the Easterlings.

Sigrid blushed, betraying her youthful, easy to please nature and nibbled on one of the petals.

I smiled, feeling proud for once again redirecting her teenage sadness and pushed my sleeves back up, bending over the plums with an exaggerated groan.

"I'm too old for this," I complained though even Sigrid could hear the happy sigh when my fingers once again began to peel skin from flesh. I wasn't too old for it of course, at thirty I was younger than anyone else in the kitchens.

"Nonsense," she replied and I felt her hands kneading my upper back. Sometimes her kindness would leave me speechless, like I was now, and I gave up trying to thank her and instead relaxed into her touch.

"Say," Sigrid began, as innocently as the child she no longer was, "has Da come by here lately?"

My fingers slowed in their efforts, though I kept going, separating the skins and tossing them into another pot. With my face buried in fruit, I could afford a little privacy and frowned into the plums. The King's visit yesterday afternoon had stayed in my mind until I'd fallen asleep with the image of his black eyes locking with mine.

Bard unnerved me. I had been content before his visit – settling into my new home, enjoying the courtly flirtations, admiring the King from afar if I saw him in the halls. But since his visit, if I were absolutely honest, I would say that I disliked his effect on me. He was the King, the ruler of the city that was becoming a home to me. But he was also a father, a man with three beautiful children, the only physical evidence that he'd once had a wife of his own.

Sigrid, Bain and Tilda were perfect, in my eyes. And I had no desire to enter into the territory of the woman who must have been perfection personified to produce such beings. Bard, being the father that I had come to understand that he was, would no doubt feel the same. I had no battle scars on my stomach, no heaviness to my breasts that marked a woman who had fought a war and won, rewarded with a bundle of pink skin and cherub lips. Bard's wife had fought the battle three times, the last earning her a place in the Timeless Halls with the fiercest warriors. I had no right to him.

"Aye," I replied shortly. If Sigrid wanted her father to be happy, I wouldn't ever begrudge her for it, but privately I knew that the woman she was looking for was not myself.

I was half a woman, if you asked those who listened to rumours – Easterling blood was the mark of a beast, they thought. After thirty years of such thoughts, they still set my teeth on edge and even now, buried in plums, I scowled. Half a woman and a childless one at that.

Sigrid was silent for a few minutes, her fingers working down my back as I bent further down into the pot.

"Are you going?" she said finally.

I frowned again, this time in confusion, before I realized she couldn't see me so I held onto her hands and pulled myself out of the plums.

"Going where?"

"To the feast."

I raised an eyebrow. To the feast?

"Aye," I shrugged. "I'll be there in the morning for the final touches and I'll set the table up myself, if I can convince the servers."

"But after that?" Sigrid spread her hands. "Aren't you coming?"

"To do _what_?"

"Attend the feast!"

I shook my head and rubbed my forehead in frustration before I remembered the colour of my hands and glowered when Sigrid unsuccessfully tried to suppress a laugh.

"No, I won't be, Sigrid," I sighed.

Sigrid hummed and left soon after. For the first time in the months that I'd known her, I felt relieved at her departure.

* * *

The summons came two nights later. The plums had been made into a smooth, sweet jam and the skins had been sugared and dried. I had just finished gently removing one hundred shapes from their moulds. I'd made a paste of sugar that morning, the most I'd ever made in one sitting. The trays I had chosen were laid out on my bench and I spooned the mixture carefully into the moulds of roses and pomegranate flowers for Dale, jewels for the Mountain and miniature trees for the Woodland Realm.

I had ordered a new mould to be made as soon as the word had come from Bard that the Dwarves were to attend. I planned to begin work with it the next morning, but I fished it out again, clapping my hands in childish glee at the sight of the near perfect rendition of the Lonely Mountain, complete with the great stone renderings of the gates of Erebor.

I already had a mould in mind to please the Woodland Elves, though I suspected that they had seen such pieces of beauty time and time again in their own feasts. No matter, I decided. It had been five years since I had last catered for such a feast. Not since my time in the courts of Minas Tirith had I had the chance and I was taking great joy in it.

A knock on the door surprised me. No one was around at this time of night – after the main dinner had been served in the Hall and only the courtiers remained.

"Enter," I said clearly and packed the remaining sugar shapes away, placing them gently into boxes of flour to protect them until the day of the feast.

A young man, surely no more than sixteen summers I thought, stepped in lightly. He wore the green and brown livery of the servants that attended the King personally.

"You are summoned, my lady," the young man said with a quick bow.

I frowned and cocked my head to the side. "Summoned? To where?"

He huffed and I raised an eyebrow.

"You have been invited to the royal table, my lady, to share the evening meal."

"The evening meal?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes and I pursed my lips, trying on a matronly scowl though it had no affect on him.

"The royal family take their meal together privately, _my lady, _and your presence has been requested."

I looked down at my hands, still covered in flour and my brown woolen dress that was white down the front. "Now?"

He didn't reply, instead he moved to the side and gestured for me to follow him out the door.

"Wait a minute then!" I ordered and darted down the corridor and into my own room at the end of it. I had five dresses: two for work, one for funerals, one for weddings and one for… well, anything else. I chose the last one, a simply cut gown of deep red linen that had been dyed by the hands of my mother herself in the colour favoured by the women of the East.

I washed my face and hands and unbraided my hair, combing my fingers through it quickly before redoing it in a simpler, softer manner.

My hands were shaking, though I walked back out of my room and nodded calmly to the young man.

We began the walk from the kitchens to the main hall, warm at this time of night and decorated with fine tapestries on the walls and wooden benches with chairs that had their backs crafted by iron from the forges of Erebor. Courtiers were still flittering about in their silks and fine wool, though thankfully Dale was not Minas Tirith and they didn't stop to sneer at me as I made my way to the back of the hall to the doors that opened to the western wing of the great house.

Guards stood on either side and opened the large wooden doors for me, revealing a hallway of rich brown wood. I wondered if it was cedar, for it shone in the light of the torches on the walls.

There were a number of doors leading off the hallway, to studies or private rooms I imagined. At the end was a more ornate door, the wood carved skillfully with runes and images of the Kings of old. At least that's what I assumed the images were, for I had never been this far into the wing before.

"Why have I been summoned?" I asked in a low voice to the young man as he raised his fist to knock on the door.

"The lady Sigrid requested you," he replied with a shrug and I felt my shoulders sagging in relief. Nothing complicated, then, I thought, if she had asked for me. Perhaps Tilda wanted another story of the princesses of the East, like the ones I often told her when she visited my work space, though why that required I come to the royal quarters, I had no idea.

Though it was the deep voice of the King that answered the announcement of the servant beside me, bidding us to enter, and my hands began to shake all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you again for the new followers, favourites and reviews. For those who have joined us - welcome! I would love to hear your thoughts, particularly on the characterisation of Bard and his family as I really enjoy writing them and it'd be great to know if their dynamics are working well.**_

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The personalities of children are as varied as the adults who bring them into the world. Never had this been more clear to me, a childless woman, than the night I sat at the table of King Bard, the prince Bain and the two princesses Sigrid and Tilda.

Sigrid and Bain were quiet and steadfast, like their father. Neither spoke often, nor did they care to elaborate even if it would have been helpful. I found it borderline amusing, truth be told, when I was led into their dining room and not a word was spoken by either the two children or even the King himself.

Bard seemed surprised to see me when he turned to find me at the door, or at least I assumed that he was for his mouth opened in a silent "Oh" and his right eyebrow curved up. I pursed my lips, fighting off the urge to kiss the line of black that was arched so deliciously that it made my mouth water.

The two older siblings merely looked satisfied, looking between myself and Bard. I shifted awkwardly on my feet.

Tilda saved me. She strode forward and stood in front of me, a hand outstretched and her eyes looking pointedly at the pockets of my dress.

"Tilda," Bard's voice held a warning note, though his smile betrayed his feelings - I wondered if he'd ever denied her anything.

"I haven't got anything," I said and folded my arms at my chest. She mirrored my movements and I bit back a grin at the confident way she held her chin high to meet my eyes.

I was struck by a sudden wave of affection for Bard - not for the man, nor the father, but for the Dragon Slayer. Here was a girl that could take full advantage of her new, better life. He had killed Smaug in time for Tilda to enjoy being on the cusp of womanhood, enjoying her youth rather than the hard life I knew Sigrid had lived.

"My lord, are you aware of how long I have known your children?" I asked the King, looking to gain his permission for my next actions.

"Nay, lady, I'll admit that I am not," he replied with a sheepish smile.

Sigrid shrugged in response to my look of surprise and I soon brushed it aside. If they had their reasons for keeping their interactions with me a secret, then I wasn't about to reveal all of the details.

"Not a short amount of time, sire," I explained and knelt before Tilda, studiously ignoring the King's reproachful look to his older two children. "Here," I said softly to his youngest, fishing out a small box from my pockets.

Tilda was well versed in this by now and she waited while I opened the box and carefully eased a small shape wrapped in a small square of cotton out of the flour. "For you, mistress Tilda."

I stepped back and watched her as she unfolded the material, feeling a buzz of excitement when exclaimed in wonder at the small shape.

"Da, look at this one!" Tilda went to her father and tugged on his sleeve.

"A pomegranate flower," I explained and tried to ignore the warmth that pooled in my stomach when he took the small flower in his hands, touching the petals with his fingers.

"Tilda has been showing me these little things for months," he breathed. "I had no idea they had come from here, from _you."_

I curtsied awkwardly. Despite my resolve to ignore his affect on me, I felt my cheeks redden. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord," I replied and stifled a sigh of relief when Bard seemed to remember himself and waved us all to the small dining table at the back of the room.

I walked swiftly to my seat, feeling the small hairs that had escaped my braid tickle the back of my neck. Sigrid sat beside me, Bard at the top and Tilda and Bain opposite me on the other side of the table.

"Are you coming to the great feast?" Tilda asked me, when the food had been brought out. No meat, a scandal in Minas Tirith, but a regular occurrence at the royal court of Dale, where Bard's tables served much of the same food that the rest of the city ate. Visitors to the city, especially those of Gondor, often expressed disdain for such simple fare but I had come to learn that Dale was immensely proud of their honourable and unassuming King. Certainly no one ever went hungry in the city, a detail that could easily be explained by Bard's practical management of Dale's resources.

Tonight we were dining on subtly spiced fish from the inland Sea of Rhûn with a salad from the royal gardens, filled with tiny ripe tomatoes and fine slices of red onions , spiced with sumac and sea salt. I flushed with pleasure when I recognised one of my own creations in the centre of the table, covered of course but I knew it was mine from the red silk that I often used when sending my dishes to the King's servants in the afternoons.

"No, miss Tilda, I am not attending," I replied politely, hoping that she'd choose tonight to mind her tongue for once. She didn't, of course.

"Why not? Da? Sigrid? Didn't you invite her? You were supposed to!"

The King muttered something unintelligible from his spot at the head of the table and Sigrid just stared at the plate.

"It's no matter," I attempted to appease the youngest royal.

"It is!" Tilda cried, popping a tomato into her mouth. "What are you doing that's more important?"

"Tilda!" Sigrid hissed and I had to laugh when Bard groaned and rested his head against his hand. He met my eyes, his own twinkling with the laugh that I expected he often had to suppress with his youngest daughter. My mouth dried in response and I moistened my lips before looking down and taking a sip of the rich Dorwinion wine.

"Sigrid's going to marry a Prince, you know," Tilda announced to the table when the main course was removed and her sister's face paled from her seat beside me.

"A prince?" Bard questioned, smiling slightly but his tone carried no amusement. Perhaps he already had an inkling as to who Tilda was referring to, as I did myself, but he gave no indication whether or not he was pleased by the idea.

I heard the tell tale squeak of leather against leather, presumably Sigrid's shoe squashing Tilda's toe but she pushed on. "Yes, the Prince of E-"

"I'm going to marry a prince too!" I blurted out loudly, coughing when Bard's wine glass stopped at his lips from surprise.

"Aren't you too old for a _real _prince?" Tilda scolded and this time it was Bard who coughed, spluttering something that sounded like a telling off.

Well, I'd gotten myself into it now, I thought as I felt Sigrid's hand squeeze my own under the table.

"Not for the ones I'm going to marry," I replied. "Besides, I'm not _that_ old."

"How old are you, then?" came the next question.

"Ah…" I took another sip of wine, waiting for Bard's interruption but it never came. He seemed as interested as Tilda was in my answer. "This is my thirtieth winter, Tilda."

Bard's head snapped up and he looked at me in surprise. "You don't look thirty."

"_Da!" _Sigrid's boot found its next target, judging by the King's wince.

"See, you're much too old for a prince!" Tilda said, clapping her hands together as if the matter was decided.

"I am not!" Well, a woman has to have her pride, after all.

"What prince are you going to marry then?" she asked, her little eyes narrowing in a gorgeous show of defiance against my obviously ancient self marrying a dashing young prince. Were there even any princes around here that weren't at least my age, besides our own Bain? Tilda seemed to have confused youthful looks for age, I realized with a grin, thinking of the Dwarven prince Kili's smooth, wrinkle free forehead. And Kili had decades more under his belt than I.

"I've got two in mind," I replied, deciding to have a little fun.

"Two?" Bard smirked, the first I'd ever seen, and that cursed eyebrow curved up again.

"Oh aye," I said emphatically, tipping my glass towards him, hinting where the fault lay for my next revelation. "The first, Legolas of the Woodland Realm. A few short years older than me, it seems. And if he's not to my liking, my next choice will be a Beorning. There's not much better than a bear man." I illustrated my point with a generous sip of wine.

Sigrid's shoulders were shaking in silent laughter beside me. It obviously wasn't lost on her that I'd managed to mention princes who were either of a different race altogether or not completely human. We shared a quick wink before Tilda opened her mouth again.

"You can't marry Legolas!"

"Why ever not?" I asked, feigning a disappointed sigh. It wasn't too hard, either – I'd caught glimpses of the Elven prince over the months and certainly wouldn't be the first woman to attest to his handsomeness.

"Because _I _will!" Tilda replied, her bossy tone carrying such a factual weight to it that I clapped a hand over my mouth to hide the hoot of unladylike laughter that I couldn't contain.

"You can have the bear man," she decided with a nod.

"Well, alright then," I replied, inwardly cursing my self when my knees shook under the table at Bard's dark gaze on my hands as I reached towards the covered dish in the centre. "I'll have the bear man."

Tilda's questions didn't stop when I unwound the string and gently pulled the red silk off the slices of sesame fudge that I had quickly made that morning amongst the preparations for the feast. To my relief, most of her questions were directed at Bard or Sigrid, about plans for future trade trips ("Why can't I go to Erebor?") or the ambassador for the Woodland Realm that had visited that afternoon ("He _should _want me for Legolas, why won't you tell him Da?").

I used the utensils myself, waving away a servant and placed small squares on each child's plate, with a larger serving for Bard, Sigrid and myself.

"Why do you have such a normal name?" Tilda asked and my fork stopped halfway to my mouth when I realized she had directed the question at me.

"Normal?" I questioned, not understanding.

"Tilda, the lady doesn't have to-" Bard began but she cut him off.

"Anne. Why is your name Anne? It should be Leila, or Yasmeen, or Nazli," Tilda said with a dreamy look in her eyes as she listed the names of the princesses from the fairy tales I'd told her that my mother had learned in Rhûn.

I smiled at her warmly, basking in her unintended compliment that I should carry the name of an Eastern princess.

"You know my mother was from Rhûn," I began, suddenly nervous when the King's eyebrows rose in surprise. Obviously he wasn't aware of that, even though the entire staff knew of my heritage.

"Was she?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the table. I nodded, disarmed at the sight of his interest but quickly cleared my throat.

"Aye, she was. She served in one of the palaces. She was the chief _tabakh helawiyaat. _Confectioner," I added, translating the title.

"Like you!" Tilda exclaimed and I smiled again.

"Yes, like me, mistress Tilda. My father," I shot a questioning glance towards Bard and he nodded for me to continue, "he was an ambassador from Dorwinion. He passed to the Timeless Halls shortly after I was born and my mother stayed in the home he had built us on the shores of the Sea, cooking and teaching me her craft. I was named for my father's mother."

I avoided looking at the King and waited instead for Tilda's next question.

"You should be married to a Dorwinion lord, then!" she said.

I shifted in my seat, smiling gratefully at Sigrid when she redirected her sister's curiosity. All of Bard's children were soon talking about the upcoming feast, so much so that they didn't bat an eyelid when I rose and bid them goodnight.

The King stood when I did and followed me to the door, as was the polite thing to do I reminded myself.

"I'm sorry about Tilda," he said softly as I laid a hand on the handle.

"There's no need to apologise, Your Majesty," I replied and bowed my head, ready to make my exit when I felt his warm hand over my own.

Bard had had to make a step forward to stop me and I could have turned my face to meet his lips, so close was he to me. I took a wavering breath in, thankful that the children were still talking amongst themselves.

"Would you call me Bard, lady Anne?" he asked, the warmth of his breath against my ear making me shiver.

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.

"Are you… Are you a free woman, Anne?" was his next question, his voice so low that I had to turn my head slightly to hear it, feeling his sharp intake of breath when my cheek unintentionally met his lips. I looked back at our hands on the door handle.

"I am," I whispered, feeling my heart race.

"So no bear man, then?"

I ducked my head and laughed under my breath, hearing his quiet chuckle behind me.

"No, _Bard," _I said and gently removed his hand from my own and opened the door. "There's no bear man."

Bard stepped back, the corner of his mouth curving delectably, and bowed his head. He could have commented on the blazing pink spots that I could feel on my cheeks, but he stayed silent, watching my shy curtsy. I felt his eyes on me as I walked back down the corridor and when I turned back at the main doors, he was still there, watching me with one hand on the frame of the door and the other extended as if my own was still beneath it.


	4. Chapter 4

I hardly went outside for the next two days. Almost every hour was spent in my work room, grinding sugar, making the paste, filling the moulds and gingerly taking out every show piece, storing them carefully before the feast that was to be the following day.

Like a coward, I locked my door. Twice I heard heavy footsteps stop outside it and if the door wasn't so thick, I fancied I could hear the King's light breathing as he stood silently. I always banged and bashed the pots when I heard his footfalls, hiding behind my work when my hands were clammy and my heart thudding at the idea of him leaning against the outside of my door the way I was doing to the inside of it.

There was no way to know exactly what was going on between us: the King and I. It felt like a jest to think of it that way, but Bard didn't seem like the type of man to speak to, let alone touch a woman if he didn't have intentions for her. Or, at least interest. But perhaps he was that type of man?

No, of course he wasn't, I chided myself. Although it didn't change the fact that I was a nobody – a well skilled, finely paid nobody but a nobody at that. No match at all for the man who had the weight of a crown behind him. Single women had been sent from all over the lands of Men, beautiful daughters of nobles and lords. I thought that the most of them were cloth headed girls, with no brains between their elaborate hair styles and their heads, far from suited to marrying a man who had three strong, wonderful children when they were but children themselves. But a few were truly stunning – calm and kind, hailing from large estates in Dorwinion. A single man with money was an eligible bachelor – a single _King _was almost an invitation for every woman of good name to flock to his court. And flock they did.

Carriage after carriage passed through the gates to the city and I began to hear the gaggle of women any time I dared to venture out of my door. It grated on my nerves, made me feel like a figure of sugar that a dwarf had taken his hammer to. No, I wasn't made for this sort of thing. After this realization, I spent a good few hours cursing in the corner while shelling pistachios, wishing for Bard to still be the man he was before the crown – a bargeman, a bowman. Then I cursed some more when I thought of how selfish I was being, wishing for a dragon to return just so I could have my chance with him.

I'd all but resolved to not attend the feast and stay hidden behind the doors when a single sheet of paper was pushed under my door between the gap of wood and floor.

I eyed it suspiciously from my spot behind the work bench. It was folded so I couldn't see the handwriting, but there was a heaviness to it from where the shadow of a seal was dragging the top folded half down.

I edged around the table, my eyes narrowed at the small spot of white on my dark wooden floor. Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I reached down and unfolded the piece of paper.

It was a short letter, only a line or two. I whispered the words aloud to myself, carefully as I wasn't the best reader. With every word, I felt my eyebrows rose higher until I let out a squeak at the seal that had been stamped at the bottom of the page.

Anyone in Dale knew that seal, for half of the goods in the town were stamped with it. Even the chairs in the main hall of the royal house were engraved with the same coat of arms, placed at the end of one of the legs so as to be unobtrusive but we all knew it was there. Looking around my own tiny kitchen, I could spot half a dozen items within my reach that bore the same design.

In my excitement, I almost missed the small, timid letters at the bottom corner of the page. I stood from where I had been crouching on the floor and stuffed the letter in my pocket and wrenched open the door.

I picked up my skirts like a young girl in the orchards and ran from my room, letting out a giddy laugh as my feet hit the floors, my mind focusing only on my destination until I rounded a corner and collided with an obstacle.

With a huff, I landed ungraciously on my backside. I scowled before the obstacle started laughing and that made me scowl even more, and when I lifted my head it was with curses ready at whoever thought it was funny to see me in such a state.

Instead of a page or a kitchen help, I came face to face with a large, tanned hand, extended towards me. Heat flooded my face as my eyes followed the hand past the wrist to where I knew a muscular arm was to be found beneath the unfamiliar tattered coat. I'd know that hand anywhere.

"Your Grace," I stammered from the floor at Bard who was looking at me with dancing, twinkling eyes. Wordlessly he brought his hand closer to me and I stared at it for a second before reaching up to take it with my own smaller one.

Bard pulled me up easily, like I was a bundle of feathers. His other hand cupped my other elbow as he eased me up, his face staying level with mine until I stood and had to tilt my chin to meet his eyes.

"I thought we were done with titles," he said softly. I nodded dumbly, reduced to a speechless mess. I almost didn't notice how he was dressed until he squeezed my hand, his action drawing my eyes downwards.

"Where are you going, dressed like that?" I asked, my words coming out before I could think them over and pursing my lips in embarrassment when he laughed again.

It was a fair question – Bard was wearing a dark coat that looked like he'd been born in it and added patches and more length as he grew. His trousers were thick and warm looking, his boots dirty and his layered shirts were thin. I tried not to focus on where one was missing a button at the neck, giving me a direct view of dark hair that made my mouth dry when I pictured it covering the rest of his chest.

Bard cleared his throat and my head snapped up, heat flooding my cheeks. "Where are you going?" I asked again when I noticed the bow and arrows slung around him.

"Ah," he said and ducked his head. "Hunting."

"_Hunting?" _

"Aye," he nodded, throwing me an impish grin.

I gestured towards a window, where the afternoon sky was near black and rain was pounding the glass. "In this?"

Bard shrugged. "I wasn't always King," he said simply and made to move past me.

I had half a mind to continue running all the way to Sigrid's room, my original destination, but the idea of having insulted him turned my stomach.

"Do you have to… hunt?" I asked.

"Of course I don't have to," he replied and then it dawned on me.

"You want to," I stated the fact with certainty. "And in this weather, too," I added, mostly to myself before the next words fell out all on their own. "Would you like company?"

"In this?" He turned my question around with a sly smile.

I was too far gone to care about manners or propriety or decorum. "Not exactly. Did you bring your cloak?"

* * *

He waited outside my room while I grabbed my heavy cloak that hung on the inside of my door.

"Why were you running through the halls like a pack of Orcs were at your heels?" Bard asked once I'd fastened the pin at my neck and pulled the hood up.

The letter suddenly felt heavy in my pocket, like it might burn through my brown woolen dress. I stared at my hands as we walked through the winding corridors before I decided to change the subject when we had reached the side door.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you, I've been busy," I admitted, suddenly desperately wanting him to understand that it wasn't _Bard _that I had been avoiding, but myself.

"Aye, I know, I've been stuck in meetings for two whole days myself," he returned as he opened the door for me. I looked at him quizzically before mentally shaking my head as I recalled Sigrid's tiny writing at the bottom of the letter, just below the stamp of the House of Durin: _Da says not to disturb you and I truly didn't mean to. Please come to the feast, for I know not what to do on my own._

So he hadn't come. Strangely, I felt relieved. I'd read a lot into his actions – the idea of him coming to see me sent my blood rushing, and it was all too soon. Now, a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I smiled widely as we stood under the eave, the rain coming down like a river from the sky.

"You want to go out in this?" Bard had to shout against the roar of the storm.

"Better than you going off to the woods!" I retorted and drew my black cloak closer around me, the hood hiding my face.

Bard didn't ask once where I was taking him. He followed at my side, leaving a respectable distance between us but I felt his presence all the same. With his hood pulled down and his clothes plain and simple, he easily passed for a commoner of Dale. _Like I am, _I thought, though it didn't bother me in the slightest.

We descended the small hill that the royal house was built on and he followed as I led the way through the curved streets. Once or twice he held my elbow as I stepped over rivulets of water running down the cobblestoned streets but he always released me immediately and I was too shy to utter even one word of thanks for his thoughtfulness.

Dale, even in the rain, was a beautiful town. The rebuilding of it had been a joint effort between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men, though I knew that even the Woodland Elves had sent extra hands to assist them.

Houses, once decrepit and half burnt, stood again, proud and golden with their curved roofs and arched windows. It was quite similar to the Eastern architecture of Dorwinion, but if you looked close enough, differences were the mark of the hands that built them – a Dwarven iron design around the window panes, or an Elvish carving in the wooden doors. A city to be proud of.

We slunk together through the rain, walking around and around the city until I finally stopped us at one of the lower parts. It was a poorer area, but Dale on the whole was a clean, well built city and even here the houses stood tall and proud. At the very end of the street was a tiny curved house that looked like it had been added on a whim – a "let's put this here, we've got nothing else to fill the space with," kind of whim.

And it was mine. I hadn't thought to share this with the King, I hadn't shared it with anyone, but it was mine. I'd bought it the month before after saving up all of my earnings and the money my mother had left me two years ago upon her death. It wasn't ready for me to live in, it had no proper furniture, only the fire grate was finished and ready but I was immensely proud of it – me, Anne, a single woman, buying a house in my own right, with my own money.

It was a warm coloured house, the exterior a burnt orange instead of gold like the rest of the houses on the street. Dainty steps led to the front door, which I stood in front of and turned around to face Bard, noticing that he'd stopped on the road.

I smiled shyly as I pulled the chain around my neck out from my dress and showed him the key. "Mine," I mouthed into the rain, trying to tell him that he'd have the privacy he wanted here, if he wanted it. He understood.

I couldn't see his face, but he strode forward and stood behind me as I jiggled the key in the lock. The rain paused its constant beating on my hood and I looked up for a moment to see his arms over my head, stretching his cloak like a canopy. His expression was unreadable but I imagined that mine wasn't – I felt the catlike grin stretching even to my ears and I was grateful for the shadows of the storm that hid my pleasure from him.

When the key finally turned, he pushed the door open for me and held it, his arm snaking past my body to guide me inside. I stepped in, eager to be out of the rain and shed my cloak immediately, hanging it up beside the door. I moved to the fire, grateful that the workmen had left fresh wood and tools to light it.

"I'll do that," Bard said and knelt beside me, his own cloak hanging beside mine on the wall. He still wore the jacket, but I found that I liked it – he was so much easier to love when he was dressed like a man I could have. I shied away from the thought and instead watched as he bent over the wood, arranging it skillfully before striking flint and steel. It only took him a few seconds for the first sparks to fly and for him to nurture the flames. It would've taken me not a small amount of minutes to achieve the same thing.

"This is yours?" Bard questioned, moving to stand in the middle of the room. It was a tiny house, his head nearly hit the ceiling. I laughed when he had to duck his head to look around.

"It is," I nodded and beckoned shyly, leading him around – first to the kitchen with its window that looked out onto the street, then back to the living room, before I gestured to a tiny set of winding stairs at the back of the room. "Would you like to see…?" I trailed off awkwardly. He smiled and I returned it, leading him up the stairs that creaked under the weight of us.

"These are the bedrooms," I opened two doors to two bare rooms. "And this, this is yours, if you want it."

I opened the third door, letting him enter it first when he shot me a puzzled look. This was the only room that I'd insisted be finished – a small room with the one reason I'd bought the place to begin with: a balcony. The floor was covered with one of my mother's rugs from Rhûn, a richly woven blend of reds and browns. Her bookcases lined the walls, nearly meeting the roof and they were already packed with books, some in Westron, some in the flowing scripts of her people.

There were two comfortable chairs, side by side and angled towards each other. I'd placed them so that they faced out to the window, to the view that stretched over the inland Sea. The room was nearly warm already, given the tiny size of the house – the large fire heated it quickly, something I would be grateful for when I had saved enough to furnish to rest of the house.

Bard looked around the room, his keen eyes taking in everything. "You did this?"

I nodded nervously. Did he like it? I dared to imagine him, sitting in one of the chairs, savouring the quiet the way I did when I found the time to come.

"I'll have a key made for you, if you want," I said and hurriedly explained further when he frowned. "It will not be ready for months, you could use it in the winter if you want somewhere to just… be," I finished with an awkward shrug.

I couldn't decipher the look in his eyes. He seemed to be warring with himself, his frown hard on his forehead but his eyes soft when they met mine.

He didn't answer, but walked instead to the balcony. It wasn't locked, and he stepped out, staring out over the Sea. I followed him, feeling painfully aware of not only his silence but also my damp hair that was already unruly from where half of it had escaped the loose braid from the wind during our walk. Black strands whipped around my face, the longer ones reaching out of their own accord and spreading across Bard's back.

It was still raining, though not as strong as before and I sent a silent thanks to the workmen who had slightly extended the roof over the balcony. It was a small space and with both of us standing on it, by default we were so close that I could feel his shoulders move with each breath. I shivered, not from the cold, though my movement drew his attention to me.

I looked up only when I felt the side of his body aligning completely with my own – he had taken one arm out of his coat and moved closer to me so that he could draw one half of it around me. Trapped between his body and the coat, I was warm from head to toe, though I could feel the beginnings of an uncomfortable niggling in my stomach. I knew it could be nothing else but desire when my body trembled again, reacting to Bard being so close that our hips were touching.

"Not cold?" I heard his voice at my ear and looked up to see his eyes searching my face, looking for his answer. I knew he'd found it from the way his mouth parted slightly, having seen the evidence in my pink cheeks and eyes that didn't stray from his lips.

"Not cold," I confirmed, willing my voice to be strong but it wavered anyway.

He let out a breath I didn't know he was holding and drew the side of the coat tighter around us, raising his head again to watch the black clouds rolling in the sky. His kiss, when it came, was as light as a feather. I almost missed it, I would have if his mouth wasn't so warm for all I felt was a slight jolt of heat at the top of my head as his lips brushed over my hair.

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More about the letter under the door in the next chapter :) Thank you again to the new followers, favourites &amp; Lystan for your review! Thank you to the guest who reviewed the last chapter as well. I am beyond honoured to have over 400 views for this story so far, thank you, thank you, thank you.

As always, I'd love to read thoughts on how the story is developing, so feel free to jot down a review if you've got time.


	5. Chapter 5

"The Crown Prince Fili of Erebor wishes to confirm his attendance for the Great Feast of Dale, along with His Majesty Thorin Oakenshield and the Prince Kili," I read aloud from my place on the end of Sigrid's bed where I sat with my legs folded, examining the letter for the hundredth time. "It is very… formal."

"Aye, don't I know it," Sigrid moaned and buried her head in her hands, then threw herself dramatically down on the bed.

"Why doesn't he mention the King first? And why is he writing about himself… oh," I trailed off, having noticed the stamp of a scribe. "Wait a minute Sigrid, did you send an invite to Fili?"

She nodded from her place on the bed, lying flat and face down, her hair moving amusingly from the action. I exhaled with a whistle.

"So you did it then!"

"Aye," she confirmed, her groan muffled by a pillow. Sigrid said a few more words but they were eaten up by the material.

"What?" I asked, as politely as I could manage.

"I said," she sat up, "do you think he's going to talk to Da? Is that why he's so formal? He would have come anyway but I wanted him to have something from me…"

I was silent as I thought through her question. As far as I knew, Sigrid hadn't had many dealings with the Prince since they stayed in her home in Laketown when his younger brother was recovering from an arrow wound. I had no idea if he would speak to Bard, though any man or dwarf in his right mind wouldn't do it at a feast, of all things. "No," I said with certainty and her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Sigrid…" I began gently, picking at some exposed threads in the blanket. "Have you seen the Prince since the King's coronation?"

At once she was face down again on the bed. "Sigrid?" I pressed and she nodded once.

I stifled a laugh, lowering my voice and speaking softly, the way one might when talking to a young woman in love for the first time. "More than once?"

Another nod.

"And have you… has there been any…" How should I word it, I wondered, then made my decision when I remembered she was nineteen and there was no point skirting around it. "Has he kissed you?"

Sigrid didn't move her head one way or the other. I was about to repeat the question when she turned her head slightly to the side. "No," she said in a tiny voice.

I wasn't convinced. "Not even a little bit?"

"Well, maybe a small one…"

"Ha!" I cried and clapped my hands. "Sigrid! Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not what you're thinking," she sat up again, her face a bright beet red.

"What am I thinking?" I asked, confused. A kiss was a kiss, was it not? Then again, I wasn't the best woman to decide that, given I could count the number of kisses I'd received on one hand.

"We didn't kiss… on the lips."

When I raised my eyebrows, she hurried to explain. "He found me once, during the restoration of the lower levels of the city… We were all alone on a street that'd just been finished and he was all sweaty and he'd been working and he took my hand and-"

"Sigrid," I cut in. "You know I'd never judge you! Why are you so nervous?"

"Because I liked it!" She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands and groaning again. "He took my hand and kissed each one of my fingertips and then my palm and my wrist and I just… I liked it."

I switched my position to lie down on the bed and pulled her down beside me. We were both on our backs, staring at the ceiling, our own thoughts whirling through our minds. I could see it well – the strong, blond haired dwarf bent over my dear friend's hand, the beads at the ends of his braids cool against the exposed skin as he chose to place his lips on the only place that wouldn't send her running to the hills. The thoughtfulness of his act surprised me, given I knew only too well what it felt like to be frustrated by desire, the pooling in my stomach consuming me until it felt like I had no control over my own limbs.

Then I thought of another man, the man who was the reason why I knew such feelings. I pictured his head full of black hair, bent over my hand as his lips brushed against my skin, his moustache tickling my fingers and the coarse hair on his jaw scratching my palm as he kissed my wrist.

"That sounds… nice." I admitted with a small giggle. It set us off immediately, until we were both rolling around the bed, clutching our middles and howling with laughter. For what else were women to do, when we had such thoughts and our causes were hopeless?

"Ah," I cried, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Truly, Sigrid. No harm will come to you. I said I'd come, you can come and stand with the dull confectioner if you start to feel nervous."

Sigrid rolled her eyes. "You're not dull. Da doesn't think you're dull," she added with a sly smile.

I was instantly still, embarrassment flooding my cheeks but I couldn't stop the silly grin that was soon plastered all over my face. "Did he say anything?" I asked hesitantly, prompting her to hit me with a pillow.

"Of course not!"

"Right," I said, rolling off the bed and smoothing down my apron. "Well, I'll be off. Lots to do and all that."

"Anne!"

"What?" I threw my hands up, though I couldn't stop a giddy laugh from escaping. "I'm busy, Sigrid, I'll see you this evening."

Sigrid hummed in acknowledgement, fixing me with such a pointed look that I rolled my eyes and shut the door, too mortified to curtsy or bob my head.

I headed straight for the main hall and busied myself in preparing the table for my centerpiece, covering it with one of my most treasured items from my service in Gondor, a long piece of silk coloured the deepest blue, as if it came from the depths of the lake itself. When I'd adjusted it to my satisfaction, I strode back out of the hall and turned my thoughts to the rest of what I needed to prepare – anything to rid myself of the image of Bard that was playing over and over again in my mind.

* * *

When I opened the door to my small kitchen later on that morning, I couldn't deny that I felt an immense amount of pride. The subtleties were all over my work bench, glistening in the light of the sun from the window at the back. Small roses and flowers and other shapes were everywhere, along with bottles of deep purple plum jam and tray after tray of other delicacies, sweet pastries and roasted nuts and chickpeas, coated in syrup before I'd rolled them in coarse sugar to crunch ever so sweetly when tossed into the mouth.

What I had produced was nothing compared to what one might find in the White City, where I'd needed a dozen young men to carry gleaming ships or delicate trees painted a shining white, crafted by not only myself but an assistant as well. But this… this was all mine. My own hands had rolled and stirred and coaxed, no other had helped; no other fingers had run along the smooth sugared surfaces.

A sharp rap on the door brought me to my senses and I opened it with a flourish, bestowing my triumphant smile on the nonchalant server boys that had come to help me bring in the pieces.

"Steady!" I ordered as they loaded my trays onto a long piece of wood in the corridor to transport them all at once.

"_Careful!" _was my next hiss and I winced when a tiny rose dropped and fell onto the floor of the corridor. I glowered at the young boy who shrugged blankly and continued taking the work I'd laboured over for days into the main hall. I gritted my teeth and bent down, surveying the shattered, broken petals, shining like diamonds against the wooden floor.

"Trouble, lady Anne?" Bard's low voice washed over me like syrup on a cake. I looked up from where I'd been kneeling on the floor, picking up pieces of the rose.

He was back in his finer clothes, trousers and a black tunic this time, and was leaning against the wall.

"Only this," I said, trying not to be glum but when I opened my palm and showed him the broken petals, my tone was laced with disappointment.

At once he lowered himself to the floor and his long fingers began flitting over the wood, feeling for pieces my eyes had missed. "It's only sugar," I waved my hand in the air, not really meaning it but not wanting to show him how much it saddened me to see even one tiny creation broken and wasted.

"Whatever the case," he smiled, "I should like to help, if you'd let me."

I nodded mutely and watched him as he felt around on the floor, picking up a small shining piece every other second. The sight of Bard, kneeling before me, helping me like it was an honour utterly disarmed me. Never before had any man treated me as if my time, my interests, my tiny little bits of sugar, were worthy enough to focus on, forsaking all else.

When every bit of sugar had been folded up in his hand, we stood together, me looking sheepish and him studying my face intently. Without a word, he looked down at his palm and touched one finger to the crushed pile of sweetness, before bringing the tip of his finger to his mouth in the quickest of movements.

I leant against the wall, feeling my body flush until I was sure I was pink all over. The sugar I had in my own palm dug into my skin when my fists clenched, looking for anything to stop them from reaching out to him.

His face, when he raised his head and looked back at me, was unreadable but I could have sworn that his eyes had darkened, though like the night before he seemed to not know what to do.

"I'll leave you here," he said with a soft smile and before I knew it he was gone.

I watched him walk away down the corridor, back to the main hall. Only when the door had shut behind him did I realise that he had come to this side of the hall for me, for why else would he be in such a place?

That only confused me more, knowing that I was so close to falling in love with a man whose heart seemed completely unobtainable. I knew why – my own mother had died two years ago and I still woke in the morning believing it had all been a dream. Nearly every day it hit me that she was gone, my one constant was gone, the woman who had stood by me, supported me for all of my years.

And Bard… Bard had lost the woman who had given him three beautiful children. Who had taken vows with him, sworn herself to him and had her hands clasped within his grip for all to see. It had been over a decade since his wife had left him but if I knew anything at all, it was that time eased the grief, the pain, but never the dull ache and the sense of loneliness that could permeate even the happiest of people.

He had never been mine; he had belonged to another. And he still belonged to her. I could not, _would not _compete with her memory, like the troops of women pouring into Dale to attend the night's festivities hoped to do. But I felt now, despite suspecting that it would be my undoing, that I could not stand by and watch his heart be nurtured and charmed until another woman felt his lips on hers, his hands on her body. _I _wanted all of those things. I wanted everything, even though I knew that he didn't have everything to give. I would take scraps tossed to me if it meant just a second of love from Bard.

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* * *

_Author's Note_

A shorter chapter today, but I wanted to end it on that note. I also wanted to show Anne's friendship with Sigrid, that it is a solid one and came before any romance with Bard as it will come to be very important later on.

And - I love Fili, absolutely adore him. I want to show his feelings developing, to give clear images of how Sigrid and Fili are progressing even though the story is centered on Bard and Anne. I hope I've given a good glimpse of it with this chapter!

Thank you Lystan for your review, yes I had to! There was no other choice, haha.

Katnor, thank you!

Inperfection – thanks! I hope you have enjoyed it.


	6. Chapter 6

The guests began to arrive at nightfall. Men and women had come from Dale, Dorwinion and Esgaroth, many of whom were from influential families but a good lot were those who had fought for Dale during the Battle of the Five Armies. Bard had elected to do away with the old style of ruling, favoured by the old Master of Esgaroth, and instead surrounded himself with men and women of spirit and honour, rather than those who had the deepest pockets.

I could hear the buzzing of the growing crowd from my room and it set my body on edge. Looking into the mirror, I doubted my choice of dress yet again – this was the only formal dress that I had, one that I had usually saved for weddings of my mother's relatives in Rhun, or balls in the White City on the rare occasion that I was able to attend.

It was a red dress, like the one that I had worn to dinner with Bard's family. The Easterlings favoured red, believing that it brought good fortune and my mother had made it with her own hands as a gift when I had returned from Minas Tirith once on a visit.

"Why do I need this?" I remember asking her as I ran my hands over the smooth, Harad silk that was prized in Rhun, sourced by a long and complicated trade route that ran through Khand before ending in Haradwaith.

"You might need it someday," she had replied, electing not to say anything else though I knew she was thinking of a day when I might catch the eye of a man, or he mine. Though for all of her prayers and sacrifices that she made on my behalf (even though she half heartedly denied it, I knew she had carried on the Easterling traditions of worship), her wish had not come to fruition and she had died without knowing the joy a grandmother feels when she holds a tiny child who will carry on the history of her family.

My eyes trained on my image reflected in the mirror. The dress was of a deep red, hugging my upper body. A silver belt at my waist marked where extra panels had been sown in to make the skirt of the dress flow around my hips and legs, following the Rhun styling where a woman may show the highlights of her arms and waist, though not the curves that hid underneath. And I was glad for it, for I already felt pale in comparison to the rest of the women, who I knew would be taking the opportunity to wear their very best.

The beauty of the dress was in its detailing – my mother had painstakingly sewn silver markings around the neck and at my wrists, swirling patterns in the style of what the Westron speaking women called damask, though I knew them to be markings of the Western lands of Rhun, where my mother's kin hailed from. The patterns covered nearly all of the skirt, from the top of my thighs to the floor where a thick band of silver threads ran in a line around the end of the material.

I did not have the powders and oils that noble women coated themselves in, so I rubbed rosewater around my neck and over my braids. Perhaps, if I hoped for Bard to see me as beautiful, I should have let my hair down but shyness meant I opted instead for tying my hair up, twisting the braids around each other until they formed a thick knot at my neck.

When the noise in the hall became louder still, I took a deep breath in to calm myself and slipped my feet into my mother's silver slippers. With one last look at the mirror, I opened the door and began the walk from my room to the hall, following the twists and turns of the corridor until I stood outside the door that exited out into the crowd.

A young boy was manning the door and he gave me a deep bow, too deep for a woman like me, before he winked cheekily and threw open the door. I placed a candied almond into his waiting hand and stood still for a moment, surveying the crowd and gathering my wits.

"Go on then," the boy prodded me and I felt his little hand gently pushing me out into the crowd. I turned, intending to laughingly rebuke him but he winked again and shut the door, forcing me to step further into the hall.

From this side of the hall, I could afford a few moments to take in the changes that had happened when I'd finished setting up my table and returned to bathe and dress myself. The tapestries on the walls had changed, from images of great, long past battles to those depicting the repaired city of Dale, along with newly finished creations that depicted the Battle of the Five Armies. One was made for the men of Dale, showing their courageous stand in the city, another for the rallying of the dwarves when their King Thorin had charged out of the gates of Erebor. I searched for my favourite, having seen the plans for these tapestries when I had first come to work for Bard a year ago – it was of the eagles, descending out of the skies, their powerful claws plucking the Princes of Erebor to safety before they ploughed through the remaining Orcs.

The last tapestry, the largest, was of a scene I'd heard spoken of even in the taverns of Dorwinion – the victorious inhabitants of Dale, standing at the great horn, blowing the powerful sound towards Erebor, where Thorin and his company stood, proud and triumphant.

The women were resplendent, in gowns of velvet and fine wool, some edged with lace and others with skirts that glistened as the torchlight reflected the crystals sewn onto them. Even those not of noble families were stunning in simple gowns, their faces clear of makeup but proud and secure in the knowledge that they were lovely young women, in a thriving city that preferred character over coins.

The men were all wearing their finest, though when I craned my neck I could see the Elves of Mirkwood entering the hall and knew that no man could match their beauty. Their tunics were plain silver, the simple circlet of the Prince his only adornment that set him apart from his kin, but as a group their faces were almost ethereal, male and female alike. I thanked my mother silently, that she had birthed me into the race of Men so that I would never need to compete with such beauty, for no human woman could.

Legolas greeted those in the crowd brave enough to offer him their hand, before he led his small group to the middle of the hall. He stood and waited, either oblivious to the hush that followed the Elves, or so used to it that after thousands of years, he was no longer bothered by it.

I stayed by the wall, even as the heralds announced the arrival of the King of Dale and the Prince and Princesses. I curtsied from my place of relative privacy, and watched as Bard walked with his children across the raised platform at the end of the hall and held out his hand to Legolas with a wide grin. The Elven Prince stepped lightly up the stairs and they clasped their arms together in a warriors greeting, making the crowd cheer louder.

Bard was not one for speeches, so the crowd soon settled as he spoke quietly with Legolas. He was dressed well, in a dark blue tunic embroidered at the neck with gold thread and black trousers. His hair was much as it usually was, the top half braided back though when he turned his head, I could see that the braids were smaller and woven together, reminding me of the men of Rohan that had sometimes come to Minas Tirith, their hair braided as finely as the beautiful manes of their horses.

As usual, he wore no crown though no one could fail to notice the regal way he held himself, the way he always had, a woman whispered to me as we made small talk. Bard continued to talk with Legolas as we waited for the Dwarves to arrive, though his eyes often strayed over the crowd, as if he was looking for someone. I smiled, letting my imagination run away with me as I toyed with the idea that he was looking for me.

Bain was handsome in a forest green tunic and dark brown leggings, while Tilda and Sigrid were equally as lovely in their simple dresses of velvet and silk; Tilda in a deep blue like her father and Sigrid in a purple that shone against her light skin like the Arkenstone in the tapestry behind her. I swallowed thickly, basking privately in my pride at the sight of them and turned to the doors with the rest of the crowd when the herald called out to us that His Royal Highness Thorin Oakenshield had arrived.

I am ashamed to say that I could not see the Dwarves when they entered, though I heard the collective intake of breath from the crowd. Impatiently, I slipped through until I was near the edge of the crowd and then I too felt my eyes widen.

Thorin entered first, his two nephews a few steps behind him. Despite his stature (though it didn't seem so to me, considering he would have been as tall as my shoulders and Kili when he passed me came up to my chin) he was every inch the King. He wore a fine coat of fur and the silver strands in his hair shone. But I can admit that it was not Thorin that I looked at the most.

Fili walked proudly beside his brother through the hall. He looked to me to be a self assured man, his expression calm even as the crowd began to buzz with excitement. His hair was braided at the sides and at the ends of his beard, and his clothes were as fine as the man wearing them. He was almost as handsome as his dark haired brother, but his confidence made him the one that my eyes followed.

I stepped back through the crowd, back to the wall so I could watch as the Dwarves ascended the stairs and greeted Bard. Even from here, I could see Fili bend to brush his lips over Sigrid's hand, in the politest of ways considering her father was by her side. Though from the pink blush on her cheeks, I felt a smile tug at my lips as I wondered if he'd held onto her just a touch more than might be expected.

When the greetings were over, we were all called to seat ourselves. I shifted on my feet, wondering what to do when I saw that servants were leading guests into their selected seats. I stepped out closer to the tables (Bard had long refused to dine at the top of the platform and instead preferred to sit amongst the rest of us), noting that Bard and his family were seated at the top end of the hall, with Legolas and Thorin. Fili and Kili sat at another table and when the young boy that had opened the door for me earlier came and offered his arm, I found that I was seated there too, next to the giant body of Beorn the bear man.

"Check your list again!" I whispered under my breath to the boy, horrified that he had made a mistake but he said nothing and bowed before gesturing to the one empty seat left, looking pointedly at the place marker that bore my name on it. I pursed my lips, trying to hide my bashful grin and slipped another candied nut into his hand as he moved past me.

"Do you carry those with you always, my lady?" Beorn's voice boomed from beside me and I snorted, unable to avoid a laugh when I saw his massive mouth grinning.

"A lady never reveals her secrets," I replied and turned my head, imitating the other women of the royal court. Despite the distance between us, I felt his body shake as he chuckled.

When I looked back at the bear man, intending to try my hand at polite chit chat, my eyes slid past him and met a pair of the darkest brown. Bard was seated at the next table, but with the way the tables were arranged, we were facing each other. I smiled shyly and inclined my head, feeling my cheeks warm when he returned my smile and took a sip of his wine, while his eyes never strayed from mine.

After the Princes introduced themselves and I was filled with a very inappropriate amount of butterflies in my stomach at the idea of both Fili _and_ Kili at my service, Beorn turned to me again.

"So tell me, my lady," Beorn said when the first courses came out and he had selected one of my honeycakes that I'd made especially for him. "Who do I have the honour of sitting beside this evening?"

"What a strange question, my lord," I said, giving him my best befuddled look, "for I have it on good authority that you know the heirs of Durin."

Fili raised his glass of wine with a grin from his seat beside Beorn and Kili, seated next to his brother, laughed into his ale.

Beorn's laugh carried over the hall, though I was far from embarrassed when some of the ladies spoke with one another behind their hands. I'd heard stories of the powerful bear man, who had born Thorin's injured body back from Ravenhill, and I was already making a mental note to thank Sigrid who I was sure had arranged the tables.

"Anne of Dorwinion," I extended my hand and smiled when he took it within his two larger ones. "I am the King's… confectioner," I admitted.

"Confectioner," Beorn mused with a shake of his head. "It amazes me what men these days think they need."

I wasn't insulted, instead I beamed at his frankness. "Are you enjoying your honeycakes, my lord?"

Beorn nodded eagerly between mouthfuls. "Almost as good as any I've made myself."

I held my head a little higher. "I made them."

His guffaw would have been heard outside and even the Princes of Erebor were laughing as he clapped me on the shoulder, nearly driving my body all the way through the chair. Bard raised his eyebrows in a silent question, though I found I had no way of answering and tipped my glass to him instead, turning my head away to save myself another blush.

The main course was served to us soon after and Beorn praised the special plate I had made up for him earlier that afternoon, of fresh cream, sweet cheese and our best honey, with a side of bread that was still warm out of the oven. The Dwarves, on the other hand, loaded their plates with venison and sausages, mashed potato and ham.

Feeling diplomatic, I took a small serving of venison and filled the rest of my plate up with salad.

The conversation at our table flowed freely. Along with Beorn and the Princes, there were two other Dwarves who I soon learnt were Balin and Dwalin, and two Dorwinion men. One was fair headed and the other was almost a mirror of me, with tan skin and dark eyes. I knew him immediately to be a man with Eastern blood, as he knew me, and we smiled in a silent greeting.

When the last plates had been cleared from the table, I sat back slightly in my chair. Servers were wheeling my table into the centre, and I wanted to see the reaction when the silver silk was pulled away.

The crowd didn't disappoint me. I savoured their sighs, basked in their clapping as the silk was removed to reveal a large silver tray. I'd carefully smoothed the plum jam over a portion of the tray, counting on the light of the torches to make it glisten as the lake did in the evening. At one end were the trees of Mirkwood, spilling out over onto the lake. A number of houses on stilts were in the middle of the lake to signify Esgaroth, and at the shores was Dale. I'd had the moulds for Dale for months, and the sugared buildings didn't disappoint – out of the corner of my eye I saw even Bard studying the curved buildings and cobbled streets. The lay out was a crude version of how the towns were positioned around the lake, but each town shone beautifully and uniquely.

But the best was not Mirkwood, or Esgaroth, or Dale. It was Erebor, my opinion was confirmed when Thorin himself stood and walked beside the table. He looked intently at the figure of the Mountain, glistening as I had opted not to paint any of the figures, thinking instead that their naked states would make them shine the most. The King of Erebor didn't say a word, simply shook his head with a pleased smile, but it was enough for me. I was near bursting with happiness.

"Did you do this?" Beorn asked in a low voice and I couldn't manage a reply. I nodded.

"Then where's my house?" he asked and even Thorin laughed when he heard the remark as he made his way past our table.

"Magnificent," Thorin said in his deep voice and nodded to me, before returning to his seat.

I relaxed when the crowd had begun to buzz again and the servers expertly tapped knives onto the tips of the figures, the pressure point making them open with perfect, equal servings.

I saw Sigrid grinning widely at me from the other table, and Tilda was eyeing the approaching pieces with great interest.

Soon other plates were brought through the hall – candied nuts, pastries dripping in sugar syrup and slices of semolina cakes and fudges coloured the brightest pink from rosewater. I watched Bard from under my lashes as he selected a small square of coloured fudge, wondering if anyone else would ever know that I'd chosen pistachios as the nut to be hidden inside them because they reminded me of the green flecks I'd seen in his dark eyes. He bit into the piece and his eyelids fluttered for a moment, making me hold my breath as he savoured the taste. Bard opened his eyes and looked straight at me, though I did not look away, no matter how much I wanted to, until someone else at his table caught his attention.

Dancing began soon after. Men of Dale were hardy and unpretentious, much like Dwarves, I'd noticed, and feasts were less of a chance to eat than they were a chance to drink and be merry long into the night.

"Will you dance, Beorn?" I asked the bear man, trying to imagine the man whirling his partner around the hall.

"Waste of time," he said, his words met with a round of laughter at our table.

We all sat through the first few dances, watching the couples, until a Gondorian noble's son led Sigrid out for the next dance. They joined the couples and the dance was simple, with barely any touching required but when I turned back, Fili's face was the very picture of annoyance before he covered it expertly with a bland smile.

"Alright, brother?" I heard Kili whisper and I offered Fili my own kind smile.

"Perhaps you should ask the lady to dance?" I suggested, enjoying the way his face paled.

"No," he protested, "I couldn't. I'm not much of a dancer."

"Not much of a dancer," Kili crowed as he took a swig of his ale. "I'll have you know, lady Anne, that Fili is the best dancer in Erebor. Moves like his legs were born to twirl a lass around."

Fili hissed something in their own language, though I knew a threat when I saw it judging by how Kili's cheeks turned a pleasing shade of pink.

Perhaps I was wrong, though, as the older Prince stood and smoothed down his coat, before self consciously adjusting his belt. "How do I look, Kili?" he asked and I had to stifle my laughter, my shoulders shaking with the effort.

"You would've put Smaug into retirement if he'd had the misfortune to look upon you in your finest," Kili pronounced, giving his brother a light shove over to where Sigrid's suitors were already lining up, hoping for a dance with the lady.

I saw him elbow his way through the line, taking full advantage of his height when compared to the tall men as he stood on their toes and slipped through to the front of the line, noticed only by a few.

"And you, lady Anne?" Kili asked as he slid into his brother's vacant seat. "Care for a dance?"

I risked a glance to where Bard was still sitting, deep in conversation with Legolas. Young women had begun to loiter around behind his table but he didn't pay them, or me, any attention. "I would," I grinned and patted Beorn on the shoulder before standing with him and lining up with the couples, waiting for the end of the dance.

Soon enough we were in position, the women lined up on one side and the men on the other. I stood beside Sigrid, my eyes darting between her rosy blush and Fili's wide, victorious grin.

"Careful Sigrid," I whispered with a sly smile. "Your Prince looks like he might just devour you on the spot. You'd best tell him to not be so obvious if you're determined to keep him a secret."

Sigrid lost her composure for a moment and turned her wide-eyed face to me. "Oh, do you really think so Anne?"

"Utterly besotted," I confirmed and the opening notes of a courtship dance masked our laughter.

The ladies moved in unison, linking hands as we took three steps to the left, then three steps to the right. In the line, we moved towards the men, before back again, the more daring of the women throwing their partners coquettish smiles. I could only laugh as Kili waggled his eyebrows at not only me but also half of the line of women, while his brother's heated stare remained solely on Sigrid.

The pinnacle of the dance was when the men finally broke ranks and joined with their partners, twirling them around the room. I knew the dance, though with Kili as my partner, it became a hilarious muddle of steps before I gave up and let him lead me around the room, dancing around the couples until we were in the middle of the circle, safely away from bumping into others.

It had been years since I'd enjoyed myself so much and my head was soon thrown back in laughter as Kili commented on the other couples. "He doesn't know where to look!" he directed at a man dancing with a particularly buxom woman, followed by "I certainly do!" with a pointed look at her wig that was slipping off, at which point I gave up and let out an ungraceful hoot.

"Peace!" I pleaded between laughs, not sure I could manage the steps if he kept going. He gripped my waist tighter in response, smiling wolfishly.

The couples moving back into a line with our hands linked marked the end of the dance. Kili bowed so deeply that if he had a beard, it would have brushed the floor and I offered him an elaborate curtsy in response. I saw Fili guide Sigrid back to her line of suitors, but instead of letting her go he simply turned back around and waited with her for the next dance, Sigrid so engrossed in conversation with him that she didn't notice. I tipped my head to him, acknowledging his skill and he shot me a devious grin.

Kili led me back to our table, bowed again and departed in search of more ale. I settled back into my chair, falling into easy, though mostly one sided on my behalf, conversation with Beorn. When I looked around after another two dances had finished, I saw Tilda holding court with Legolas and Fili, both of whom were studiously listening to her every word. I chuckled when I concentrated, hearing that she was telling them a tale that I'd taught her myself, of a princess and a frog.

As the night wore on, the crowd grew louder and the music faster. I danced a few more times with Kili and once with Fili (his brother was right, he was an impeccable dancer) before I finally had enough time to sit and take a bit of what was left of the sugar, a tiny twig. But before I had brought it to my mouth, Bard finally stood and the ladies who had been waiting for so long stood straighter as he tucked his chair in and made his way around the table.

Though it was not to them that he held out his hand, but to me. I looked up at him shyly, unsure of myself now that so many eyes were trained on us, though I soon heard Kili start up a song at one end of the hall, drawing the attention of most of the crowd to him.

"Would you care to dance, Anne?" Bard smiled, his eyebrow arching as he waited for my response.

"I would," I repeated my earlier words of the evening and placed my hand into his; reveling in the jolt I felt when our skin touched.

The dance was easy, though I had trouble remembering the steps. Bard's hand was warm as he held my waist, though it was nothing compared to the burn I felt on my skin from where his other hand was joined with my own. It was a dance from Esgaroth, straight forward and quick, the couples simply dancing around the room before we lined up with a gap down the middle and each couple took their turn to dance down it. Most were well into their cups by then and instead of demurely going down the space, couples whirled themselves around in a blur.

I laughed as each couple went down the line, though my eyes always returned to Bard's. He was smiling, though his eyes were distant and I wondered if he was remembering a time years past, waiting for his turn to dance but with a very different woman opposite him.

But when it was our turn, the distance in his eyes was gone and he grinned widely, taking hold of my waist again and whirling me down the line, turning me around and around until I was dizzy when we reached the end. I knew that my face was flushed and my forehead shining, but I let him draw me away to the side of the hall all the same. I was still laughing, and I found that he was too, though I didn't miss how he kept his hold on me as he bent his head towards me and brought his mouth to my ear.

"You look beautiful," he whispered and brought the back of his hand up to my cheek in the lightest of touches.

The laughter died in my throat and I swallowed nervously. My heart was still racing in my chest, thumping erratically even when his hand left my face. "Thank you," I managed and hesitantly touched the sleeve of his tunic. "As do you."

"Beautiful?" he asked, teasing.

I grinned, feeling my courage return. "Beautiful."

He laughed easily, and looked out over the crowd, before turning back to me and taking my hand again. I watched as he brought it to his lips and before I knew it, the word was out of my mouth. "Oh, soft."

"Soft?"

"I-" I stammered, wondering if I should continue. Then I caught sight of all the women looking at us with narrowed eyes and I squared my shoulders. "I was wondering what it felt like. Your moustache," I explained, almost losing my nerve when his head snapped up and his eyes were on me again.

"What it felt like? You have been wondering what it felt like?"

I nodded and made to leave, my face burning but his light tug on my hand made me look back. "You have been wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by me?" Bard asked, watching me intently.

My courage was long gone and I covered his hand with my own and gently loosened his grip on me. "Excuse me," I mumbled and quickly left his side, glancing back at him to see him watching me, stunned.

I retreated to my seat, turning my attention to Fili and Kili but I couldn't stop myself from sneaking a quick look at him, still standing in the same place. When the women advanced on him and he politely waved them away, I felt the same thrill in my stomach that every woman feels, when she knows she has fallen in love.

"Anne," Sigrid said as she stopped by my chair, "perhaps _you _should be more careful." She inclined her head to where Bard had his arms around Tilda and Bain as he led them out of the hall, presumably to their beds. He was smiling and laughing with his two youngest children, though his eyes always came back to me.

"Oh hush," I ordered her, swatting her away with an embarrassed laugh, though I made no attempt to deny anything. She knew it, too, and laid a small hand on my shoulder, squeezing it with a gentle smile before she too went to join her family.

I left the hall soon after, though I knew that Bard would return. I said my farewells and thanked my new friends at our table, then headed back to my room. I pulled my cloak off the hook behind the door and fished out the chain with my key from the drawer of my dresser, before heading back into the corridor and slipping out the side door.

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_Author's Note:_

The night isn't over yet, my friends. This has been my favourite chapter to write yet, what do you think? Of course Beorn made an appearance - as unlikely as it would be, I do love the bear man so in my AU, he grumbled a bit but agreed to attend the Feast.

Thank you Lystan, inperfection and Virg! Your reviews are very much appreciated.

Anne and Bard's conversation at the end is greatly inspired by one from The Other Boleyn Girl – read the novel if you haven't, it's wonderful.

I will be putting up a link to Anne's dress on my profile if you'd like a look.


	7. Chapter 7

The streets of Dale were quiet as I descended the hill, though the silence of the night was punctured every now and then by the opening of a tavern door. Loud songs spilled out into the cool air, sung by those who did not attend the Feast but celebrated all the same.

I drew my cloak closer around me while I walked, further and further down until I came to the familiar street. I drew out the chain and key, glanced around to make sure no one was present, then skipped down the remainder of the way before coming to stop in front of my door.

"You should see me now, mother," I whispered into the air as I turned the key in the lock, "dancing in the streets for the love of a man!"

I left the door open so the light of the few torches on the street would help me find my way to the fire. Like I had predicted the evening before when Bard lit the fire in seconds, I spent a good few minutes striking the flint and steel. I let out a victorious whoop when the fire finally roared into life, this being one of the first times that I'd successfully done it myself.

I shut the door and locked it carefully. As soon as the tiny house felt warm and comfortable, I hung up my cloak and twisted and turned, pulling the laces at the back until the dress was loose enough for me to pull off on my own. Wearing only a thin shift, I took a candle and went upstairs to the study. I pulled out a bag that I kept in a basket at the bottom of one of the bookcases with a black sleeping robe inside it for nights like this and eased my arms into it, hugging it to my body. I ran my fingers along the book titles, selecting a book of fairy tales in my mother's flowing script. It would take me a long time to read even the first page, as I had never reached the level of skill that she'd wanted me to, but it would take my mind off of Bard for the moment.

I grabbed the two large pillows from the chairs and balanced my loot under one arm, while the candle in my other hand lit my way. Once I'd reached the end of the stairs, I stood the pillows against the wall and went into the kitchen. I kept a thick woven mat standing in one side of the tall, cool pantry and gritted my teeth as I hauled it over to the living room and unrolled it in front of the fire. The pillows came next and then I sat down with a sigh of relief as I leaned against them and began to read, letting my mind focus as I read through the stories of valiant princes and beautiful maidens.

I read for at least an hour, until my eyes began drooping shut. The flames of the fire were still burning well and I added a few more pieces of wood for good measure before closing my eyes and concentrated on the sound of the flames dancing, hoping they would lull me to sleep.

And they would have, if I had not sat upright at the sound of scratching on the front door. Scratching or a faint knock, I couldn't tell but fear knotted in my belly as I stepped gingerly to the door, listening for who could be there so late at night.

There was silence for a long moment, then the unmistakeable low voice of Bard carried through the door and into my ears as he muttered something unintelligible to himself. Creaks of the steps alerted me to his leaving and I shifted on my feet, wondering if I had the courage to open the door.

I did.

"Bard?" I hissed into the blackness of the night, jumping when his form emerged like a shadow in front of me.

"Anne?" he replied, his voice heavy with confusion though I couldn't fathom why considering it was my house he was standing in front of.

"Of course Anne, who else?" I grabbed a candle and held it up to my face.

Bard laughed quietly and moved closer to the door. "You said you didn't come here, so when I saw the light from the windows I came to check."

I stood aside and opened the door further. "What are you doing walking down here at this time of night? The Feast must have finished hours ago."

"Did you not come down here yourself, my lady?" He replied and I had to grin as I nodded.

"Come inside, you'll catch your death out there." I ordered and waved him in. He stayed on the top step, deliberating until I laid a hesitant hand on his arm. "I meant what I said before – use the study all you want. I'm staying downstairs, anyway."

"Well, alright then," Bard said and walked past me, his body brushing against mine in the tiny hallway.

I shut the door behind him and made my way back down the corridor, stopping at the end when I saw that he'd taken off his shoes and was seated in front of the fire. No one could say that I was faultless, so I folded myself down beside him on the mat, drawing my knees to my chest.

Bard stared into the flames for a long time before he finally spoke. "I confess that I didn't come here to check on the house."

"Oh?" I said, grateful for the darkness outside that meant we couldn't see each other well enough for him to make out my hopeful expression.

"I was walking around the city and I saw the light in your window, that is true. But I was hoping that it'd be you that I found."

I hummed in acknowledgement, though still I waited as my heart pounded in my chest.

"You must understand, Anne," Bard began, his eyes still trained on the fire. "I love my wife. _Loved_ my wife."

"Not loved," I said gently and turned to face him. "You're right to say love. And you don't have to explain yourself to me. You don't have to explain yourself to anyone."

"But I do," he protested and pulled my hand until we were both lying on our backs on the pillows, though he left what felt like a gulf of space between our bodies.

"There hasn't been a woman since her," he said in a low voice and in the corner of my eye I saw him run a hand over his face. "There _were _women, in the beginning, when I couldn't get through the day without ale and searched for her in places I knew she'd never be-"

"Bard," I cut him off, both of us now staring resolutely at the ceiling. "It's none of my business."

"It is," he said firmly. "Because I haven't truly wanted a woman since my wife, but Anne, hear me when I say that I want _you. _But I cannot. My grief is still too near… it follows me. I have no reprieve. Some days I think that I _want _no reprieve."

I could feel tears beginning to well in my eyes, though whether they were for my own sorrow or his I couldn't tell for they had merged together in my mind. When he spoke of his wife, his eyes were half closed, as if there was no one with him at all and it made me hurt for him more than I would have thought possible. We were both lost in our thoughts for a long time until I drew my robe around me tighter and pulled a blanket over the both of us.

"Rest your head, Bard," I whispered as he began to sit up. "I understand. You will find a friend in me, for as long as you have need of it."

And I did understand, even though it hurt. Some said that a person who had loved and lost could love again, because love left a hole in your heart that would always want to be filled. But I would never force it – what good was I, if I pushed and pushed, only to have him break with the effort of it?

No, I decided. I would leave him be, but even then I knew that I would not lose my hope, could not let go of my desire for Bard to wake up one day and see that morning had come and that I was there.

We fell asleep quickly, both of us exhausted from the night's activities and the rawness of our conversation. I tried to stay awake when I heard his breaths quieten and slow, but I succumbed to my tiredness soon after.

How many hours we passed in this way, I couldn't tell. But I woke with a chill at my back, the fire long having burned down to its embers. Even half asleep I still felt warm and when my eyelids fluttered open in confusion, I felt my breath draw in with surprise.

In our sleep, we had drifted towards each other until Bard's body was turned towards me and my face was buried in his chest. I could barely make out the lines of his face in the darkness of the room, but I knew that he was the source of my warmth. His arm was tucked firmly around my own form, keeping me flush against him from where it rested at my back.

I felt my breath quicken in response to his closeness and I bemoaned the state of my mind and its cruelness; that I should torment myself in such a way when only hours before he had confirmed my barely hidden fears that he could not ever be with me in the way that I'd imagined.

I moved slowly, not wanting to wake him. First I tried to ease myself out of his grip, then I tried to lessen his hold on me but he only stirred and pulled me in closer. I was horrified for a moment, torn between wanting to believe he knew it was me and the idea that he may not know me at all in his dreamlike state.

But the body is a cruel mistress and I felt my mouth moving closer to his skin, until I pressed my lips against the base of his neck. It was a small kiss, and chaste; I could feel the pulsing of his vein under my lips and knew that I would take this feeling with me, box it up and carry it until I hurt no longer. Though even then I felt that I had set a vigil up at the gates of my heart and would let no one in except him.

I moved away from him, rested my head on the pillow and closed my eyes, willing for sleep to return to me.

"Anne," I heard Bard whisper not a second later, though I kept my eyes closed. The shame of my actions washed over me, even when he moved his arm from my back and his hand dragged along my side until it rested at my waist.

"Anne," he repeated.

I heard him move, though when I opened my eyes I could barely see him at all. I turned to him, or where I thought he was, about to construct an excuse for my behaviour when I felt his fingers begin to trace patterns along my side, from my waist to my hip, his hand following the curve of my body through my shift where my robe had opened during the night.

I reached out to him, tentatively touching the lines of his face, letting my hands see what my eyes could not. I would have been content with that, would have remembered the feel of his skin and compared all others to the soft hair on his face and the smoothness of his forehead. His eyes were closed and he turned his face into my hand, before I felt his mouth placing a kiss on my open palm.

I held my breath when his face moved closer to mine and felt my back arch of its own accord, bringing my chest against his as his fingers splayed open and gripped my waist. His mouth ghosted over my jaw and my neck, placing kisses across my collarbones until finally he raised his head and pressed his lips to mine.

He kissed me passionately, like a drowning man, his mouth warm and sweet. When his tongue traced my lower lip I couldn't stop myself from burying my hands in his hair and moaning into his mouth, feeling my smile when he pulled back. He kissed my lips once, twice again before peppering tiny kisses over my forehead, my eyelids and my cheeks.

He would have released his hold on me then but when I felt him draw away I linked my hands behind his neck and pulled his mouth back to mine. I was lost in him, his mouth and his touch as he held his weight on one arm while the other bent my knee and slipped under my shift, his hand slowly moving up my bare leg.

My fingers dug into his shoulders as I felt his hand move past my knee and both of our breaths were ragged and loud in the silence of the night. His hand paused and his fingers moved lightly back down my leg and I sighed in response when he carefully brought my shift back down.

His mouth was still on mine, though Bard kissed me more innocently and I was thankful for it – I knew that I was pressing against him as much as he was me, and I could not trust my mouth to form words other than 'Yes' and even the wood beneath our bodies that creaked with our movements knew that I could not say 'No' to him either.

When I was sure that I would never forget how his mouth felt, he touched my cheek with the back of his hand like he had earlier in the night and moved away from me. Though instead of the earlier space between us, he gathered me into his arms and held me while I trembled, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair until I slipped back into sleep.

I woke with the dawn, the room warm and fresh flames in the grate. I did not remember him leaving, though in my dreams I had felt a delicate kiss on my hair and a whispered plea for forgiveness. I shivered and drew the robe around me, knowing that even if Bard had left with the weight of his shame on his shoulders, I would not forget him. I did not _want _to forget.

I pulled on a simple dress with my cloak and left the house, making my way back up the cobbled streets before even the bakers had opened their windows. I let myself into the royal house at the side door, not failing to notice where boots had been freshly scuffed against the mat not long before my arrival.

I tried to turn my thoughts to something else to distract me from my whirling mind, but I found that I could not. I felt Bard's loss like a slap to the face, as if someone had plunged their hand into my mind and dragged the comfort of his presence out.

It was in this frame of mind that I fell back on my bed in my tiny room in the servant's quarters, glad for the privacy as I lay in want for Bard, my body falling victim to a swirling, curling form of desire that I knew meant I had lit a fire that I could not put out.

And I remained in such a state until fate intervened, disguised in the form of Sigrid, holding Fili's first letter against her chest.

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_A/N:_

_Thank you Lystan (did this answer your wonderings?) and inperfection for your reviews. And thank you to everyone new who has followed this story and added it into their favourites. Sorry if anyone gets a few notifications for this chapter (or none at all) - the site and I are not getting along!_


	8. Chapter 8

I was having my breakfast in the hall when Sigrid came bursting through the doors from the royal quarters with a bundle clutched to her chest. I hadn't seen Bard for four days, all of which I'd spent alternating between feeling confused and frustrated, depending on which memory my mind decided to dig out.

The memory of his kiss left me tingling from my head to my toes. When I thought about how his hand had travelled over my body, I had to stop whatever I was doing and plant both hands onto my work bench, breathing deeply in and out to stop myself from marching to wherever he was and demanding that he do it again.

But when I thought of how he'd been so conflicted when he'd confessed his feelings for me, or rather our situation, and then his whispered "forgive me," (which is what I'd decided I'd heard, after a good long hour of analysing what I remembered of his departure) I wanted to dig myself a hole in the ground and stay in it until I forgot the warmth of his lips or the calluses on his fingertips.

"Anne," Sigrid hissed as she sat down beside me. "I need your help!"

"Good morning to you too, Sigrid," I replied with a pointed look at my bread and steaming cup of tea.

"Oh, right. Morning," she smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Eat first, help later."

"Can I not help you here?" I was confused, wondering what she'd need me for that it couldn't be discussed at the table.

Sigrid chose not to answer, but I caught her glance around the hall, her gaze falling on a few washer women who were suddenly very interested in buttering their bread.

"Alright, alright," I grinned and took one last bite of the bread. I picked up my mug and waved my hand towards the doors. "Lead on."

Sigrid walked quickly to the doors that she'd exited from, then we both went into the first room on the left of the hallway. She immediately jumped on the bed, her face stretched into an ecstatic grin.

"Sigrid…?" I trailed off, my eyebrows rising as I took a sip of tea.

She let out a nervous laugh and thrust the bundle down onto the bed before unfolding the cloths and tossing an old scarf to the side.

"What have we here?" I asked, sidling over to the bed, my free hand darting out to pick up a small treasure trove of folded papers.

Sigrid was silent, though I caught the familiar stamp of the House of Durin on the first page. The next two pages were vastly different from the first that was written perfectly by a scribe. They both bore the same hurried writing, though the very last piece of paper only had a few lines written on it in the middle and was covered in creases, as if it had been folded up to the last spare inch and tucked carefully into the middle piece of paper.

I skimmed over the first page and my chin dropped. I set the tea down so I wouldn't drop it and rubbed my eyes before I looked again, concentrating harder to make sure I had it right.

"They want _me?_" I stammered, reading it over for a third time and still not fully taking in the formal request for King Bard's confectioner to visit the royal kitchens of Erebor and share the knowledge of sugar casting with the cooks.

"I couldn't possibly…" I began and mumbled an incoherent excuse.

"Oh, but you can!" Sigrid leaned forward on her hands and knees. "I'm begging you, Anne!"

"Why is it important to you that I go? Unless… unless you want to use me to take a trip to the Mountain yourself!"

Her guilty expression was enough of an answer for me. "Sigrid!" I admonished. "I am your friend first and foremost, but surely your father would not agree? The princess of Dale, traipsing around Erebor with only me as her companion?" I stopped short of saying it wasn't _seemly, _though it most certainly was not. There was nothing to stop me from going but I wasn't going to drag her reputation through the mud by taking her with me.

"No, no, I promise you Anne, there are some negotiations about adjusting the trade routes and I need to attend-" Sigrid's eyes were wide and honest.

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "So why do you need me present? I could decline easily, given I don't plan on telling them everything that I know. I'd be out of a job if all of my recipes were common knowledge!"

Sigrid thrust the other two papers into my hand. "Read these. I need you with me, Anne. I need someone I can trust."

I held her gaze for a long moment before I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. I began to read it aloud but Sigrid cringed and I smiled knowingly, delighting in her embarrassment but silently scanned the rest of the letter.

"_To the Princess of Dale,_

_All the kings and queens of legends of old cannot turn back the hand of time, so what chance have I of a miracle - one where my only desire is granted? _

_For my miracle, I ask for one day only - one sunrise, one sunset. I know not what I did on the night that I had with you, though I know that I did not do what I should have. Every minute, every hour that I had you in the same room with me should have been spent with you in my arms. No other suitor would have had the chance to dance with you. _

_Let me have another day with you, Sigrid, for I fear that Mahal himself will not bother with the request of such a lowly dwarf as I. Grant me more time with the woman who has my heart._

_Fili."_

"Oh Sigrid…" I breathed, feeling water swimming in my eyes. "I would not have thought anyone capable of such poetry, let alone _Fili._"

I thought of the cheeky, light haired dwarf, always ready with a smile or a laugh. It was true that he seemed to be the serious brother when compared to Kili, but I had not known _anyone_, except perhaps authors of old Elvish songs, to write with such emotion, such honesty.

"This changes things, I assume," I remarked.

"How so?" Sigrid replied in a small voice, telling me that she knew exactly what I meant.

"This is almost a declaration of love, Sigrid," I said gently. "If you do not return his affections, then you cannot come with me. It would hurt _both _of you."

I wondered if I was being too harsh when she leaned against the bed head and covered her face with her hands. But it was true – she had chosen to share the letters with me, and my newfound knowledge came with responsibility. No good would come of it if Sigrid only desired to test the waters with the Crown Prince of our closest ally. Though I privately wondered if any good could ever come, when she was so sure that she needed to keep Fili's love for her a secret. What was she afraid of? Surely not her father, as it seemed to me that Bard would give her the moon and more if it were within his power to do so.

"Sigrid?" I whispered and crawled forward onto her bed to rest my hands on her shoulders.

"Sigrid," I repeated. "Come clean or I'll go after the Prince myself. No one should write that well and not have a woman of his own, after all."

Sigrid snorted with laughter, but when she raised her face to mine, her expression was a picture of helplessness. I sat back, my smile almost splitting my face. "You love him, don't you?"

"I won't admit it to anyone but you," she grimaced, though she was soon laughing again as I let out a squeal that was not at all suited to my age.

"Silly girl!" I playfully chided, lying back and kicking my heels together in the air. "Love! _Love!_" I sighed, though if truth was to be told I was struck with an unwelcome sense of envy when I thought that I was not so free to admit my feelings as she was.

"Aye, love," she confirmed with a roll of her eyes. "Fat lot of good it ever did anyone."

I turned to her, shocked as I waved the letter above our heads. "You cannot tell me that this is not a fine example of how _good_ love is going to be to you, Sigrid. Perhaps I should look for a dwarf, too…"

Sigrid let out a hoot of laughter. "Go ahead, but tell me what Da says when you do!"

This time it was my turn to grimace. "I'm not sure that anything would ever happen between Bard and I…"

"Oh?" Sigrid flopped down on the bed beside me and soon we were both lying with our legs in the air and feet against the wall, our backs flat on the bed. My own dress was bunched to the thighs, the shift halfway up my calves and even Sigrid's many layers were hanging around her knees.

"Should I even be talking about this with you?" I asked, genuinely curious as I thought that she might not want to even know half of what had occurred between her father and I.

"Anne," Sigrid's loud scolding echoed off the walls. "Don't be so daft. Da wouldn't have even plucked up the courage to talk to you if I hadn't knocked on your door and made him go in."

"Why on earth would you do that, Sigrid? He's not ready, not for a woman like me who's in too deep already." I instantly regretted my words when she sighed and stared at the ceiling.

"Da has been staring at Mum's portrait every night for over ten years, Anne. But he always laughed when he'd see you chasing Bain through the hall with your spoon or walking with Tilda somewhere. He told me one night that he thought you were beautiful, so I took him to your door the next day. I want him to smile again," Sigrid confessed softly as her hand found mine on the bed.

I was silent for a moment as I assembled my thoughts. I felt like I was intruding on a very private moment as I listened to her explain why she'd pushed Bard to speak to a woman when he should've been speaking to her mother, if life had been kinder to them. I remembered that when I was only a few short years younger than Tilda a man had come to speak to my mother about marriage and I'd selfishly shut the door on his hopeful face. I hadn't even had the chance to know my own father – Sigrid had lived for almost a decade with her mother, yet here she was, offering her father to me.

"He said I was beautiful?" I asked shyly, squeezing her hand and hoping it conveyed just how grateful I was for her trust in me.

"Aye," she grinned. "Said he'd not seen a woman like you in many years."

I flushed in response to the compliment, my thoughts turning to how his mouth felt when he'd kissed the dip between my collarbones.

"Say…" I began when I managed to get my mind back on track, "where has Bard been recently?"

Sigrid shot me a knowing smile and I resolutely ignored it. "He's been in Esgaroth, having meetings with the new Master. But I reckon they both went hunting. Neither of them seem to like being cooped up all day."

I stifled a laugh, having met the new Master's wife Hilda once before and knowing that anyone married to her would have to be twenty times the man that old what's-his-name was in the years before Smaug was finally killed.

"Do you love Da, Anne?" Sigrid rolled onto her side. "I know he can be a right old crank most of the time, but you'd make him happy, I know it. You'd be good to him."

I sighed under the weight of her hope. It wasn't my place to say that it was _Bard _who was hesitant, not I. But Sigrid was my dearest friend, the woman who had taken me by the hand and dragged me into life in Dale, bringing the smile back onto my face. If Bard hadn't been her father, I would have told her absolutely everything.

"I won't admit it to anyone but you," I began, repeating her earlier words in a tiny voice with my hands over my face, "but I am in a fever for his touch. If I could have and hold him, I would be content for the rest of my days."

Sigrid didn't say a word, but when I peeked at her from behind my hands she was staring at the ceiling again with a sad smile on her face. "Would you be good to him?" she whispered and I felt the enormity of her statement, the daughter taking the duty of guarding her father's heart.

"If he'd have me," I said and sat up. "Now, enough of our woes. I want to see that second letter as you seem to want it to stay hidden!"

Sigrid's face was soon a bright red as she thrust the piece of paper to me. I read through it, laughingly at first but then I exhaled and held it to my heart, suddenly understanding exactly why Sigrid was in such a fuss over the Prince.

* * *

When I sat on my own small bed later that night, reading over the letter again by candlelight, I took a moment to picture Fili. He'd be gritting his teeth, of that I was sure, as he wrote down the humorous words and hoped not to be taken for a fool; but the undertone was so sensual that I felt I had found a kindred spirit in the dwarf.

At the very least, he was a man who paid attention to everything – he'd obviously not missed a word of Tilda's story when she'd told Fili and Legolas of the beautiful princess and the frog, and as I held his letter as evidence of that fact, I thought that Sigrid could not do any better than someone so obviously devoted to her.

A soft knock on the door disturbed my thoughts and I tucked the letter under my pillow before I inched the door open.

"Good evening, lady Anne," Bard smiled from the other side of the door and I nodded my head in return, unsure of how to greet him now that I'd felt the pleasure of his lips. If I was honest, I barely trusted myself to be within touching distance of him; he had reduced me to a simpering mess, a milksop of a woman.

"Come in," I finally plucked up the courage to say and stepped back. Another woman would be ashamed by a man entering such a tiny room as this, fit for a servant, but Bard had come from ashes. He was the last man to care.

"Perhaps I should stay where I am," he admitted and I noticed that his hands were clasped firmly behind his back.

I grinned, knowing all too well how it felt to be frustrated with unfulfilled desire. "If that is what the King wishes."

Bard arched an eyebrow and I leaned against the door.

"Oh!" I remembered why I had asked Sigrid about Bard's whereabouts in the first place. "Here," I opened the door wider and bent over my dresser, fumbling around until I found the small chain with the key that I'd picked up two days ago. "It's a copy, yours to keep. Use it as often as you want, there'll be no work done over the winter anyway."

Bard held out his hand and I dropped the key for my new home into his palm, maintaining our careful distance. "You did not need to do this for me," he said with a small smile.

"Better you have your space there than hunting – I fear Hilda might tan your backside if anything should happen to Percy," I clapped a hand over my mouth after the words spilled out, groaning in embarrassment at my choice of language in front of the man who ruled the city and my very own heart.

"'Tan my backside'?" Bard quoted and I bit my lip. Somehow it didn't quite sound threatening coming from his mouth – quite the opposite, in fact.

"Or worse," he muttered with a wolfish grin. "Thank you, Anne," he said again when our laughter subsided. "I'll leave you here. I was on my way out," he explained.

"Indeed, I don't know why you delayed for me at all," I said, unable to hide the hint of provocation in my voice.

"Oh," he said slowly, "I think you do. I think you know very well why I would stop to see you."

He nodded his head to me and strode away, though I didn't fail to notice that he returned towards the main hall, not the side door that was the only way out that my room was in the path of.

I stayed by the door until he disappeared around the corner and then shut it with a huff. I returned to my bed, running a frustrated hand through my hair and picked up the letter again, letting Fili's imagination guide me out of my longing for Bard.

"_Sweet, fairy princess," _the letter began, with a pause as if Fili had tapped the quill against his thigh, wondering if he really was going to write the rest of the words.

"_Let me introduce his frogness. He alone can hear you singing – he will dive down to the deepest depths to return your golden ball. _

_What's one little kiss, fairy princess? A tiny touch? You might like it, sweet princess, if you lower your defences." _

And then, a tiny, honest line that he'd added, as if he was unable to leave it without allowing his hand to write the curves of the letters of her name.

_"Jump in the water with me, Sigrid."_

I exhaled with a whistle, letting the words flow over my skin until I realized that it did not bring me out of my longing; it intensified it until I was sure I was aflame with it.

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_A/N_

Phew, Fili! The first letter was greatly inspired by Paul Kelly's simple, lovely song, "If I Could Start Today Again". The second, which I'm sure Kili would be proud of, is mostly excerpts from "Kiss That Frog" by Peter Gabriel. Both absolutely fantastic songs, if anyone is looking for new things to listen to.

Thanks, DD and hanew! So very glad that you're enjoying it!

Lystan - yep. Me too. Eek! And these are certainly not the last letters from our favourite Prince.

inperfection - Oh, me too! Writing this in the first person makes me jealous ten times over for Anne.

Virg - hop on the Bard-wagon my dear, there's room for all of us!

Amadeusan - thank you! I agree, he needs much more attention than he gets.

Does anyone mind if I change the rating to 'M'?


	9. Chapter 9

A fortnight after I had given Bard the key to my home, snow covered Dale in a blanket of blinding white. We had settled into a strange arrangement – I barely saw him as he was busy with all of the concerns that winter brings with it, but often I would make the walk down to the lower city, bundled in layers of clothing, to see that light was already shining out of the window of my study.

Out of respect for Bard and his privacy, I did not ever enter the house when he was there; something would always make me pause when I'd decided to visit, or on rare occasions my hand would halt itself as I brought the key to the lock. I had given him use of the study for that very purpose, after all – for privacy.

And so I would take one last look at the top level of the tiny house, sigh, then trudge back up the hill, sometimes stopping at a tavern for a warm ale, but mostly I would return to my small room in the servant's quarters. We passed each other in the corridors, sharing smiles and greetings, and sometimes he would come and help with grinding the sugar, working silently while I tried to verbalise the fact that I missed him.

This continued for another month, though my days were not uneventful. I had decided, much to Sigrid's delight, that I would agree to make the short journey to Erebor, if only to feed my curiosity as I had never seen the Kingdom Under the Mountain. It took not a small amount of preparation, as I had to box up moulds to take with me. I chose only my simplest ones – basic, firm moulds for small, flat sheets or tiny leaves, easy enough to make with the right guidance.

Then the ingredients were assembled, as I did not know what the kitchens of Erebor had at their disposal. In the letter, I had been assured that everything would be provided but I still took the equivalent of what I myself used up in a day.

Sigrid and I were to depart together, accompanied by dwarves sent by Erebor and a small group of guards from Dale, much to my embarrassment. I had a mind to take this up with Bard, though he found me first on the evening before I was to leave.

I looked up from my book when I heard a faint knock. It was a freezing winter's night, and I gingerly made my way over to the door, taking the blanket with me.

"Oh," my teeth chattered in a greeting when I opened the door to see Bard standing on the other side.

He took one look at my millions of layers and wild hair that I had kept loose to try and retain some warmth around my neck and laughed out loud, at which point I raised my chin and fixed him with my best haughty look.

"Have you come to laugh, or did you have another reason for disturbing a lady in the evening?"

Bard pursed his delicious lips, a movement that drew my eyes automatically to them, and shrugged his shoulders. "I thought to visit," he said.

"To visit or to poke fun?"

"To visit, though the other is most enjoyable," he returned and I grinned in spite of myself and stepped back to let him in.

Bard took up most of the space in my room and when he sat on the only soft surface, the bed, he took up most of that, too. I deliberated for a moment, unsure after our time apart whether he would wish me to sit by him. He smiled and patted the mattress and I sat down awkwardly, trying to arrange the blanket that was twisted around me until I gave up and pushed myself back to lean my back against the wall. I drew the blanket up until it was tugged securely under my arms, all the while Bard was watching me with barely contained amusement.

"What?" I asked, too cold to care for a proper way to jest.

"You're freezing," he stated and I arched an eyebrow.

"Not all of us have a coat that could withstand a thousand storms," I retorted, with a pointed look at his old coat that he was wearing.

He made a noise in the back of his throat and moved until he, too, was sitting with his back to the wall and both of our legs were hanging off the side of the high, yet very narrow bed, though mine dangled in the air and his were crossed, his ankles touching the floor.

The warmth of his body lured me in and I shifted, trying to surreptitiously move closer to the heat though he saw right through me and opened his coat, the invitation accompanied by a slight curving of his mouth at the corner. I eyed his torso, deliberating again, but it wasn't long before I gave in and cautiously moved until our sides were barely touching. I heard a rumble of laughter, deep in his chest and his arm moved around me, tucking me in until I was leaning with my cheek against his heart. The rest of me followed soon after when I couldn't stop myself from burying my cold nose into the other side of his coat, my hands moving to fold themselves around the ends of his warm tunic and my legs curling so I could push my frozen feet under his thighs.

"Alright?" Bard asked quietly when my chattering had slowed and the heat was slowly returning to my cheeks.

I nodded into his chest and we were silent; I could feel his heart beating under my cheek.

"Warm blood," I said after a while, the sound muffled by his clothes.

"Hmm?"

I turned reluctantly away from his coat but kept the side of my face against his warmth. "Warm blood."

"Warm blood?" he echoed and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Aye," I said. "Eastern blood. I don't like the cold."

"And yet you lived in Minas Tirith for years," he commented dryly.

I raised my head, trying to look at him but unwilling to move from his chest, resulting in directing my next words to his jaw, which was not entirely unpleasant.

"The White City is beautiful in summer and the winter barely bites at all. Though I don't remember telling you that…" I trailed off, watching him swallow.

"I asked Sigrid," he admitted and looked down at me.

"Oh?" I felt shy all of a sudden and focused on turning my fingers around the loose threads on his coat.

Bard didn't elaborate, though I wanted him to. "Did you like Minas Tirith?" he said instead.

"I did. I do. It's a beautiful city."

"What led you back here?" Bard asked and I felt his hand smoothing the ends of my hair between his finger and thumb.

"I went to Dorwinion first, to nurse my mother." At that, I felt his arm tighten around me for a second before his hand returned to my hair.

"Then when she died, I stayed there for a while, then word spread of Dale and how a good and honest king," I poked his chest, "had begun to repair the city. I packed up and left the next day. Your cook didn't want me at first - he said there was no need, but when I said that no good kitchen in Gondor was without a confectioner, he seemed to think Dale should have one, too."

Bard laughed at that and I felt his body move as he shook his head. "You are a luxury, indeed," he said and my chest filled with warmth.

"And what of the court in Minas Tirith? Gondorians seem to find Dale… lacking."

Lacking was the right word, I thought, thinking of the old, pompous lords of the court. Their balls and events often dripped with luxury, and though they were by and large good, kind men, I much preferred the calmness of Dale.

"Oh aye, it's a right spectacle. I certainly don't miss _that _side of it. This, for example," I waved my hand over the both of us, "would not be tolerated."

He stilled and I bit my lip. Of all the foolish things I could have said…

"Why?"

I cleared my throat and pushed a stray hair out of my eyes.

"Well," I began, "you're the king. And I'm the… staff."

I glanced up at his face and saw that his eyes were dark and his jaw clenched, though his face calmed when he looked down at me.

"The 'staff'?" he quoted with a thoughtful look and I shrugged in response. Minas Tirith was different in many respects, something that I had found freeing when I had first arrived. Now that I felt differently about their customs, I still remembered my time there fondly as I had learned my most complicated techniques in the elaborate kitchens of the Steward's court.

Bard's hand smoothed down my hair and lingered at my waist. I felt his chest drop and expand as he took a deep breath in.

"And Dorwinion?"

"Dorwinion…" I sighed in pleasure. "Have you ever been?"

"No," said Bard and I wondered what sort of miracle it would take for him to wake up one morning and say something longer than a sentence.

"Dorwinion is beautiful. You know their wine, of course, but the lands that produce it…" I searched in my mind for the words. "I have not seen such beauty to rival it. The land that borders the Sea is fertile and covered with fruit trees, while further inland the land rises and vineyards stretch over rolling hills as far as the eye can see."

"You wish to return?"

"Sometimes," I paused and laid my hand flat on his chest. "And sometimes not."

I felt the muscles under my hand contract and his hand took a firmer hold of my waist.

"I wanted to say farewell, to bid you a safe journey…" his low voice faded away and I contemplated what he might say if I were his wife, his beloved, instead of a woman that he didn't know what to do with.

Bard's hand emerged from where it had been resting at his side and he tilted my face upwards while his other arm pulled me slightly back.

The fire of the candlelight reflected on his skin, darkening his eyes until all I could see was a golden man bending his head down towards me as his mouth pressed firmly against my own. For a second, I sat immobile as I felt a confusing rush of feelings about how much there was between us that was unsaid, but I would be a liar if I did not admit that I quickly returned his ardour.

I felt my desire for him like a coil in my stomach, unraveling at each movement he made – his hand taking a firm hold on the back of my neck, his body shifting until we were facing each other and he could have pushed me down on the bed and I would not have uttered one word to stop him.

That was, of course, the moment that he stopped and placed a tender kiss on my cheek and stood, leaving me near in pain with frustration.

And even though the frustration intensified when he shut the door behind him, I knew that I wanted that pain again – a thousand times over.

I slept not at all that night, knowing (or hoping – a fool's hope) that Bard, too, probably lay awake in his bed on the other side of the house.

Bard… handsome, intelligent, honourable and honest… I could dream of no better man. Yet I could not imagine anything that would convince him to finally take a hold of himself, to shake his own shoulders silly until he admitted that he held feelings for me. For surely he must?

"Am I foolish, or is it possible?"

My voice seemed too loud as I muttered the question, my body already shaking again from the cold that I felt without him by my side to warm me. I wished for sleep and tried for hours, finally succumbing just before dawn, though I had barely closed my eyes before the cockerels in the pens outside the kitchens let their crows loose into the air. With a groan, I blinked and turned over, pulling the covers over my head but it did no good.

I sat up and surveyed the tiny room; half thinking that it would have to be altered somehow, after Bard had been in it. But no, it was still as small as ever; a tiny bedside table made of wood to my left and a dresser against the opposite wall with a small mirror tacked onto the wall next to the door. Nothing was there to give evidence of his being there, except my unsteady step as I made my way down the corridors to the servant's washing room.

* * *

Sigrid was waiting for me inside the stables three hours later, clutching the reigns of an old mare.

"You mean to ride that old girl?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. The horse's ears flicked forward. "Sorry," I patted her neck.

"I was born on a lake," Sigrid said flatly and I pressed my lips together, trying in vain to hide my grin. "Besides," she continued, "where's yours?"

"You should know – you organised it."

"Actually, Da organised the horses," she admitted, shooting me a shrewd grin. My stomach somersaulted in a typical response.

Sigrid huffed and looked around, her eyes travelling over the stalls. She was muttering to herself, until I drew closer and heard that she was mentally ticking off the names of the horses she could see.

"Ah! There she is," Sigrid pointed to one of the last stalls and I walked over to see a beautiful, bay mare. White markings were scattered over her black points and her powerful limbs shifted as she regarded me.

"Oh," I cooed, entering with a flat palm and allowing her to take in my scent. She bowed her head and I ran a hand over her neck, noting with interest that she had already been saddled. The mare nudged my pockets and I chuckled before fishing out an old carrot I'd grabbed on my way past the kitchens.

"For you," I presented the vegetable with an elaborate bow. The mare snorted in response, cool in the face of my affection that was already bordering on obsession as I thought of how I might persuade Bard to sell her to me.

"What's her name?" I turned to Sigrid who was eyeing her own horse with trepidation.

"Edelind," she replied with a shrug.

My eyebrows shot up. "Edelind?" I exclaimed and turned back to the horse. "A name as lovely as those from the lands of the Horse Lords themselves!"

But Sigrid had already wandered off, too delighted at the prospect of travelling to Erebor to listen to me.

I looked over the horse critically, trying to remember the beautiful mounts that I'd seen Rohirric men riding when they had visited Minas Tirith. She certainly fit the part, which only made me more excited - it took all of my restraint not to bounce around the stall like a chicken without a head.

"Edelind…" I said to myself, sounding out the name. The mare nudged me again, obviously annoyed at my constant droning and I handed her another carrot absentmindedly. My hands were already itching to grab a hold of the reigns.

Without a second thought, I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and led her over to a mounting block. I had bought a riding outfit earlier in the week, of black trousers and a white tunic, completed with a plain brown vest that fit snugly for ease of movement. My own dark cloak was already fastened over my shoulders and a wagon had been arranged for my goods and some extra clothing.

Riding was something I absolutely loved to do – in Dorwinion, I had spent many years as a younger woman riding through the vineyards, the wind in my hair as my mother urged me on ever faster from her own horse. Though as the years went by and I began to work, I stopped having time for such indulgences and as a result, I had not ridden a horse since I'd made the journey to Dale and sold my mother's stallion. The money went towards my home, but I had always regretted it.

I swung myself up into the saddle and sat for a moment, getting used to the feeling of being above the ground. My hands, now covered in warm gloves, moved over Edelind's neck again and I bent forward when I noticed a small slip of white tucked between the saddle and blanket.

I pulled out the piece of paper. It had been torn from a larger sheet and folded over once. The letter "A" was written on the front and my heart began to pound in my chest until I unfolded it and let out a breath that I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

The letter, if I could call it that, was the smallest one I had ever received, and yet it meant the most: '_Take care. B.'_

Oh. _Oh. _I tipped my head back and smiled ridiculously at the ceiling, glad that no one was present to witness the moment when I felt that finally, _finally, _I knew that he cared for me. I barely restrained my hands from punching the air, though I settled for silently and stupidly squealing instead.

With a wide smile, I urged the horse forward and slipped the letter into my tunic, tucking it against my chest. Sigrid was already sitting uncomfortably on her own mount and I grabbed her hand, swinging ours together as we made our way towards the end of the stables, to a wider space where the guards were already mounted and waiting.

Though waiting behind them, on two of the loveliest ponies I'd seen, were Fili and Kili. I felt my mouth curl as I considered whether Sigrid had arranged the meeting, though her hand was suddenly clammy and I instantly regretting assuming her guilt.

The dwarves urged their ponies forward and met us with wide, triumphant smiles.

"Good morning, fair princess!" Fili said and held out his hand, leaving Sigrid no choice but to place her own into his and let him kiss her knuckles, though she certainly didn't complain. Her cheeks blushed a beautiful rosy red and he immediately engaged her in conversation, his eyes running over her face as he asked about her wellbeing, as if nothing was more interesting to him than how well she had rested and how she was faring this very morning.

Kili brought his own pony beside mine and greeted me jovially, though I raised an eyebrow when I noticed how he was holding himself – like a man (or dwarf? Man, I settled on) who had far too much cheer for this early in the morning.

"Say," I said when we had begun the ride down the hill. "I could have sworn that," I paused to check the confirmation letter again that I'd kept in my pocket, "Gimli, son of Glóin was to escort us. Neither of you bear the second name of Gimli, do you?"

"Oh, Gimli," Fili said with a grin.

"Mmm. Yes. Gimli," Kili shrugged his shoulders.

"Gimli?" I pressed, sharing a smile with Sigrid as the dwarves exchanged wolfish grins.

"He is ill with drink," Fili pronounced.

"Ill with drink? So early in the morning," I commented wryly.

"Well, I should say, he _was_ ill with drink. Now I suspect he is simply ill," Kili winked at his brother who vehemently voiced his agreement.

I was still suspicious – the brothers were far too pleased. "So tell me," I said when the guards of Dale fell further back as we arrived at the bottom of the hill, "which one of you poured the ale?"

Both Fili and Kili's faces were perfect pictures of innocence as they protested that of _course _they had nothing to do with it, they were _Princes _after all!

I rolled my eyes, feeling like I had taken on the weight of the world on my shoulders by agreeing to be Sigrid's companion in Erebor. It was going to be a long three days.

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* * *

A/N

Forgive me for inserting Gimli and Rohan, two of my most favourite Tolkien creations!

Thank you to the new followers, favourites &amp; reviewers!

Lystan – letter from Bard? Done! Though it was in Bard's style, don't you think?

See180 – In all honesty, I agree – I don't see Bard as a 'smut' character, but definitely as a sensual one. So any scenes would be of the same nature that I've been writing but I've been worried that some come off a bit too much for the T rating, hence switching to M.

VictoireAgathon – thank you! I'm glad you like Anne and I'd like to see that story sometime!

Ofbloodandroses – I do agree. There will be some heavier scenes, but in the style I've been using, so stay with me, though out of laziness I won't change the rating unless I think I have to.

Katnor – glad to hear it!

Guest – thank you!

Inperfection – thank you – it was one of my favourites so far to write, hope you have enjoyed this one!


	10. Chapter 10

From the moment I dismounted and was escorted inside the great gates of Erebor, I felt as if in a trance. I could not tear my eyes away from the stonework, the skillful carvings amazing me until I gave in and stood still at the entrance, my head tilted upwards and mouth open in awe.

We passed under the enormous arch that was the gate and began to walk on a paved road that led to the doors of the Mountain. The road would have easily fit at least twenty grown men abreast, and I felt as small as a speck of sand amidst the greatness of the construction.

Sigrid tugged at my hand with a grin and I realized that I had stopped again, this time to peer at the carvings on the stone doors. I shrugged helplessly – surely no one had come to the Kingdom and not marveled at it?

The halls stretched further than my own eyes could see, the ceilings towering above my head. The walls were of thick stone and the granite floor shone underneath my feet. I confess that I knelt and touched the smooth floor, marveling at how such a hard surface could feel like liquid beneath my fingertips.

Fili and Kili offered us their arms and guided us out of the great stone entrance hall into a smaller side room. Tapestries lined the walls and a warm fire burned in the corner, casting light onto the comfortable chairs that had been placed throughout the room.

"The reception chamber", Sigrid whispered to me when I shot her a quizzical look.

An older dwarf with a white, long beard was seated at one of the chairs and leapt to his feet, the movement looking surprisingly easy for someone of his age.

"Ah, Princess Sigrid!" he beamed and kissed the hand that she extended to him with a kind smile.

"And you are the Lady Anne, I presume?" he said as he turned to me.

"I am," I smiled and he held out his hand to me, until I realized what was expected of me. I placed my own on his and felt the scratch of his beard as he kissed my knuckles.

"Balin, at your service!" he said and bowed deeply.

"Oh, Lord Balin!" I exclaimed. "Your reputation precedes you. Forgive me," I offered him a low curtsy, embarrassed that I had allowed a dwarf of such high standing to treat a member of Dale's staff in the same manner as a Princess.

"Nonsense," the kindly dwarf replied and raised one bushy eyebrow towards Fili and Kili, who bowed to us while mumbling something about checking on Gimli's wellbeing before hurrying back out of the room.

"You will have to forgive us, Princess Sigrid," Balin said with a wry smile. "It seems that the dwarf that usually escorts you has fallen ill. I hope the two Princes were adequate replacements?"

I ground my teeth together to avoid a hoot of laughter and Sigrid nodded demurely.

"Well, that's a relief," Balin chuckled and held out both of his arms. I grinned over his head at Sigrid as the two of us placed our hands on each of his elbows and allowed him to escort us out of the reception chamber and back through to the entrance hall.

He slowed his pace as we moved through another set of great doors and I gasped involuntarily at the sight that lay before me.

"Behold," Balin smiled proudly. "The halls of Erebor!"

Balin led us down winding stone steps, though I admit that I exchanged my places with Sigrid so as to walk with the walls of the Mountain beside me instead of the sheer drop that would have surely been the death of my clumsy self given there were no hand rails.

Massive stone pillars bloomed up out of the bottom of the Hall, reaching up, hundreds of feet above our heads. A long, wide walkway ran through the middle of the hall, with more walkways interspersed throughout it, leading off deeper into the Mountain in every which way.

I had assumed that Erebor would be a dark and gloomy place, lit constantly by fires. But in the midday light, it was nearly as bright as it was outside under the skies – skillful dwarves had constructed unseen openings that cast glimmers of light around the hall. There must have been far too many for my hands to count, for the torches I saw could not have lit up the hall the way the sun was doing.

"Oh Sigrid," I breathed when Balin had led us down a hallway and shown us to our shared chamber that, in a show of ingenious Dwarven skill, had a view of Dale, "who would ever want to leave such a place!"

Even our chamber was beautiful. The main door led into a small sitting area where the floor was covered in thick, golden carpets. Three doors branched off of that – one to Sigrid's room, with a large, four poster bed and furs on the floor, and the one opposite led to my own room that was smaller, but no less comfortable with a wide bed and soft rugs over the stone. The door in the middle led out to a private balcony, half covered by stone lattice. It looked out from the side of the mountain, giving me a generous view of Dale and the farm lands to the far east of the city.

"Da can't stand it," Sigrid replied with a laugh. "He says it reminds him of a prison – a beautiful, well made prison, but a prison nonetheless."

I nodded slowly, remembering the stories that were still being told in the taverns of Dale, of how Bard had been arrested then managed to free himself in time to survive the burning of Laketown.

"Get settled in," Sigrid suggested with a grin. "Duty calls!"

But I didn't hear her – there was too much for a normal person to marvel at, much less a servant who had only seen the Mountain from afar.

After I had spent a good hour examining all the tapestries on the walls of my room and the carvings on the ceiling, I ventured out back down the hallway and into the main hall, holding the box of moulds against my hip. Sigrid had been whisked off to her first meeting of the day with Balin; she had commented dryly that he was the gentlest one out of all of Thorin's advisers and so she always organized to have her meetings with him, a fact I did not dispute when I caught sight of several stern and stately Dwarven men that greeted her as she left.

I walked out onto the main walkway, too entranced by the sight to notice that the Dwarves were all eyeing me curiously, until a deep voice boomed from behind me.

"Welcome to Erebor, lady Anne!"

Startled, I fumbled with the box of moulds and turned to face the newcomer. At first I thought it was King Thorin, given the dwarf had long black hair streaked with silver and stood taller than most of the other dwarves that were bustling about. My brown eyes locked onto a pair of ice blue and I _still _thought it was Thorin; until I sunk into a courtesy and came face to face with the swell of breasts contained within a dark blue gown.

"Thank you, my lady," I replied, noticing now the soft curve of her waist and fine, feminine black strands of hair that lightly dusted her chin. Never would I have thought that a beard could be feminine, yet I wondered how I'd mistaken her for a man, now that I could see how clean the rest of her ivory face was. Her long, black hair was shiny and thick, falling in waves around her shoulders and her lips were a rosy, natural red.

"I am so pleased you could come – my sons heaped praise onto your construction at Dale's feast, so much so that I became curious to see your work for myself. Even more so when my brother confessed that he had never seen something so lifelike!"

My mind was working furiously to connect the clues, then I dropped into another curtsy when I realized whom I was speaking to: "Lady Dís!" I smiled widely. "I have long wished to meet you – the Princess has spoken of you many times, in only the very best of ways."

"Oh," Dís swatted the compliment away. "Enough of that. I see you've already settled in?" she asked with a pointed look at the fresh clothes I'd changed into, a plain work dress in my usual brown.

"Oh aye," I nodded eagerly. "Send me to work, my lady, it is an honour to be invited to serve you, even if only for a short time."

Dís shook her head vehemently and offered me her arm, as if we were childhood friends and not lady and staff. "Nonsense, Anne. I did not invite you as a cook, but as a guest!"

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. "Oh, I couldn't possibly-" I stammered, but she cut me off.

"You showed great respect to your Dwarven guests by making such an effort," Dís said firmly. "Besides, I have it on good authority that no figure was as spectacular as that of the Mountain, even the Woodland Realm – is that correct?" Her eyes were twinkling and I grinned in spite of my nerves.

"It was a new mould, my lady, and made very well," I replied diplomatically. Dís beamed, seeing my answer clearly through the haze of courtly politeness and wound my arm around her own.

"Come! I have some cooks who are very eager to meet you, mistress Anne."

"Not mistress, my lady, Anne will suffice, or lady if you must," I corrected her as respectfully as I could as we began to walk down the main walkway before taking another set of stairs by the wall and walking further into the Mountain. The natural light grew dimmer the further we descended but it was replaced by hundreds of torches along the walls.

"Not mistress?" Dís raised one smooth, black eyebrow. "Am I to believe there is no man warming the bed at home?"

I emitted a strangled sound in my throat and she laughed loudly, guiding me through an ornate set of stone doors that led to the kitchens and giving me the advice that would serve me well over the coming days: "This is a Dwarven city, lass. Best get used to straight, honest talk."

"How do I look?" I nervously smoothed down the red gown I'd worn to dinner with Bard and his children months before.

"Never mind you, you're a vision as always. How do _I _look? Be honest."

I stepped back and studied Sigrid's reflection in the mirror beside me. She was breathtaking – resplendent in a simply cut, green gown that made her dark golden hair shine. The sleeves were snug around her arms, but dropped at her elbows to fall loosely over the skirt.

"Like you've stepped out of _his _dream," I replied with a sly smile, enjoying the blush that spread over her cheeks at the mention of Fili.

Dís had extended an invitation to us to dine with her that evening, and we were both anxiously examining our reflections in Sigrid's large mirror beside her bed.

Sigrid had spent the afternoon in meetings with Balin and other members of Thorin's council, discussing new plans for Dale ("Fountains, Anne! Fountains!" she'd exclaimed with joy when she'd burst into our chambers earlier) as well as fine tuning an agreement for the skilled craftsmen of Erebor to begin work on weaponry for Dale's growing army.

I myself had only just returned from the kitchens, where I had been pleasantly surprised – most of Erebor's cooks were male, and had the kind of excitement about sugar work that I had only seen in young girls. The afternoon had been over in the blink of an eye, filled with grinding sugar, making the paste and filling basic moulds that Dís proclaimed she would have served at the dinner that evening, much to my embarrassment. The cooks were highly skilled, and I quickly decided to send them better moulds once I'd returned to Dale, in exchange for their good treatment of me.

I took a quick look out the window at the darkening sky and estimated that we had about an hour left before Balin would come to escort us. I already knew how I wanted to use the time.

"Sigrid," I began as she sat down on a chair in front of the mirror so I could begin work on her hair, "will you tell me why you are so determined that your father not know about Fili?"

Sigrid bowed her head shyly, staring into her lap. My immediate reaction was to want to launch into a speech, saying that she could not hide it for much longer considering Fili studied Sigrid as if he lacked only the bread to make a meal out of her. But I remained silent, hoping to draw out an explanation.

"It's not what you think," she muttered and my brushing stilled.

"What do I think? I don't think anything except he's a fine man. He'd make a good father, a good provider. His people love you like they would one of their own. I cannot see the obstacles that you seem to."

She mumbled something unintelligible and I squeezed her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"I said: he would be a perfect husband."

I spread my hands. "Well, yes. We've already covered that."

Sigrid finally laughed, looking back at my reflection until I too, laughed at our conversation that would keep going around in circles unless she was honest.

Sigrid seemed to come to the same conclusion, for she took a deep breath in and laid her hands in her lap. I resumed brushing her hair, waiting.

"Fili's eighty five, Anne. Did you know that?"

I nodded wordlessly. I didn't know his _exact _age but I knew dwarves aged remarkably well.

"Well," she continued, "you must understand, Da thinks the Dwarves are good men… King Thorin has gone a long way to repair the relationship between them, he's given a lot to us to make Dale what it is and what it _will _be."

"I know that," I said calmly, not wanting to break the spell that had her talking more words than her father ever had in one sentence.

"But, take King Thorin for example. He's nearly _two hundred!"_

This time, my façade crumbled and my mouth hung open. "Two hundred!" I exclaimed but quickly returned to brushing her hair when she winced. "Right, two hundred. Well, at least it's nothing compared to the Elves."

Sigrid snorted and chuckled. "Yes, true. But Da said over dinner one night, after there had been talk of an alliance through marriage between Dale and Erebor, that he wouldn't wish such a life on any human woman. He said by the time she'd be grey haired and bent, the husband would still be looking as young as ever. By the time she died," her voice dropped and I heard it catch. I squeezed her shoulder again.

"By the time she died, he would still have decades to live. Da said there would be no balance between them. She'd always be nervous that she was no longer the woman she was, and the husband would have to live a hundred years more after her death, all alone. He thinks it's a recipe for sadness."

I focused on twisting the strands of hair that framed her face, creating braids that would meet in the middle of the back of her head. A recipe for sadness. Of _course _Bard would think that. He had spent a good decade in grief – it would only be natural for him to protest such a union for similar reasons. But I felt that Bard had it wrong, not that I'd tell _him _that, for that was a conversation meant for husband and wife and not King and servant.

"Sigrid…" I trailed off as I tied a leather band around the braids where they met. I had left the rest of her hair down, taking inspiration from how Dís and the handful of other women I'd seen let their thick, soft hair flow over their shoulders and backs.

"Sigrid, your father's opinion is born out of his experience. That doesn't mean it's the same for you," I said gently. "We do not know what life has in store for us. Surely it would be better to marry a dwarf who loves your heart and soul, than resign yourself to an unhappy match simply because the man is of the same race?"

Sigrid's serious expression turned mischievous at my words. "Says the woman who has won the heart of a King, but refuses to see it!"

"Oh!" I tugged on her hair, laughing. "Believe me, if Bard was as clear in his feelings as Fili is with his, I'd be marching back down to Dale right this minute and demanding a declaration. It's not me you have to give that advice to."

Our laughter carried through the chamber, interrupted only by the knock that announced Balin had arrived. I quickly braided my own hair in the same style as Sigrid, braids at the front and loose down my back, and hurried to open the door.

"Lady Anne," the older dwarf bowed and I curtsied with a wide smile.

"My lord Balin, forgive me if I kept you waiting."

"Not at all," he dismissed the comment and bowed again when Sigrid came into view.

As before, he offered us both of his arms and shook his head with a wolfish grin that took years off of his face. "I will be the talk of Erebor – arriving to dinner with a golden Princess on one arm and a dark beauty on the other."

Sigrid and I exchanged a look above his head and I pressed my lips together, my mouth shaking as I tried not to laugh.

"Lead on, my lord Balin," Sigrid said, her calm voice not betraying even an inch of the mirth in her eyes.

We walked back to the main hall, which now glittered as if with gold from the hundreds of newly lit torches. And all the while I pondered Bard's words to Sigrid about Fili and whether she was right – did I really have his heart? And if I did, would that mean that his decision about a union between Sigrid and her Fili would be different? Would Bard feel differently, if he too felt the buzzing under his skin that I felt when he was near?

And if I did have his heart… would he ever allow himself to admit it to me? Or would I become like the woman in his advice to Sigrid – losing my years to a man, nervously waiting, watching myself change from young to old, dark hair to white. It was a sobering thought, one I quickly banished as Balin led us to the doors of the feasting chamber. But I couldn't quite take my mind off of Bard – despite my doubts, I wished I could know: was he thinking of me, the way I was of him? For even in the beauty of Erebor, I wanted to hitch up my skirts and run all the way back to the man that had left his stamp on my heart.

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A/N

Ofbloodandroses - they are! And thank you!

Lystan - not too much beard in this chapter, I will endeavour to add more into the next ;)

VirgCoup - thank you!

Ali - oh, wonderful! Thank you. I'll be anxiously waiting to see if you watch BOtFA with the same ideas, I did the same a few weeks ago and loved it even more.

I'm interested to see people's thoughts on Bard's reason to object about a match with Fili. The argument makes the most sense to me, though I'm aware that it goes beyond the race issue that most fics seem to concentrate on.


	11. Chapter 11

Two guards, both of whom were armed to the teeth, opened the great doors to the feasting hall. Once again I was rendered speechless at the grandeur that made even Minas Tirith pale in comparison. The hall was filled with tables and chairs, positioned in a way where one long table stood at the top and the rest lined the space in front of it.

Shining lamps hung on the walls, glistening under their own light. When I looked closer, I noticed that they were hewn with crystals. The gold ceiling above our heads gleamed in the light of the fires and I shook my head in a dazed awe when I noticed lines of silver on the floors.

Balin led us to a table just under the long, royal table that I now noticed was on a slightly raised platform. King Thorin was seated there, with Dís on one side and Fili on the other. The King stood as we approached and bowed to Sigrid before nodding his head to me with a kind smile, and Fili quickly mirrored his movements but hurried out from behind the table to offer Sigrid his arm.

"I believe I can find my place," I heard Sigrid whisper to him, one that I repeated to Balin when I noticed that there were only two free seats remaining at the table.

"Forgive me then," Fili replied in a low voice, his eyes shining with amusement as he pulled out a chair for the Princess.

I bobbed my head when Balin did the same and settled into the chair, shyly placing my hands in my lap when I noticed that my neighbour was the largest Dwarf I had ever laid eyes on. His arms were as thick as tree trunks and even seated at the table, he still had weapons hooked onto his belt, though curiosity quickly overturned my shyness when I saw the tattoos on his hands and forehead.

"Dwalin, at your service," he rumbled, nodding his head.

"Anne of Dorwinion, at yours," I grinned.

"Ah," Dwalin sat back in his chair. "The lass who made the Mountain!"

"The very same," I smiled when he turned to name the rest of the Dwarves at the table.

"Oin, Gloin, Dori, Nori and Ori," Dwalin pronounced and I shook the hands of those closest to me, nodding my head to the others.

Dwalin was not a talkative dwarf, and I spent much of our time seated talking with Sigrid and listening to her explain about all of the different levels inside the Mountain, like the upper and lower treasuries and that the River Running began not far from where we ourselves were seated.

I finally plucked up the courage to turn again to the large Dwarf at my side, when the third course of yet more meat had been brought out.

"My lord Dwalin," I began politely, "your markings are very interesting."

"Interesting, eh lass?" he raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Very much so! My own designs are quite different – I have never seen ones such as yours," I admitted, thinking of the black patterns that marked the skin on my back. Dwalin dropped his fork in response, before he took a large drink of his ale.

"By my beard, I've never seen a woman of Men with ink on her skin," he said.

"It's very common for Eastern women," I shrugged. "Though not so much in the West, I've noticed."

Dwalin's booming laugh echoed around the hall. "No, I can't say I can imagine the prim lasses of your royal courts with such marks."

I shook my head, feeling the warmth of the rich wine spreading through my body. "Not at all!" I agreed laughingly. "The marks of Eastern women are something to be proud of. We do it to mark occasions in our life – birth, maturity, marriage, children, and finally: death. But we do not display them," I said, arching an eyebrow and looking pointedly at his hands, though my mind was far away, imagining Bard running his hands over the motifs, tracing the lines with his fingers.

"Ho!" Dwalin guffawed. "Well. We have something in common then, lass, for we Dwarves don't share our knowledge. Only a Khazad can know what the runes mean."

I shot him a questioning glance and when he nodded his permission, I bent closer to his hand, examining the lines. "Wonderful skill," I murmured, admiring the thin, neat runes.

"I'll give you a clue as to what these mean," Dwalin grinned, pointing at the markings on his knuckles. "They're the last things a foe will see, before he falls."

The rest of the Dwarves at the table slapped their thighs, bellowing with laughter and my cheeks coloured at the idea of Dwalin's fist meeting a man's face. I turned to Sigrid, who had the same impressed look that I knew I wore. It wasn't often that men spoke to us as if we were equals – most believed women to be too delicate to hear of fighting, or war. I decided then that I liked the Dwarves very much.

Soon, another dwarf stood and called for music. I took another sip of wine and settled more comfortably into my chair when, to my surprise, King Thorin himself stood and went to stand by one of the fires.

He needed no accompaniment – his commanding voice was deep and rich as he slowly sung the words that echoed around the enormous room. It sounded almost like a chant, even more so when many other Dwarves stood and joined in, their low voices blending together in a subtle harmony. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I listened, feeling the words sink into my very skin until it seemed that they were printed there, joining the tattoos on my back.

"_The world was young, the mountains green,_

_No stain yet on the Moon was seen,_

_No words were laid on stream or stone_

_When Durin woke and walked alone._

_A king he was on carven throne _

_In many-pillared halls of stone _

_With golden roof and silver floor, _

_And runes of power upon the door. _

_The light of sun and star and moon _

_In shining lamps of crystal hewn _

_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night _

_There shone forever fair and bright._

_The world is grey, the mountains old, _

_The forge's fire is ashen-cold; _

_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls; _

_The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;_

_The shadow lies upon his tomb _

_In Moria, in Khazad-dum. _

_But still the sunken stars appear_

_In dark and windless Mirrormere; _

_There lies his crown in water deep, _

_Till Durin wakes again from sleep."_

"I didn't know you had ink on your skin," Sigrid whispered when other Dwarves rose and began to play a cheerful rhythm on viols, clarinets and lutes.

I shrugged, still watching Balin's thoughtful expression that he'd worn throughout Thorin's song, before the older Dwarf smiled sadly at me and tipped his glass my way. I turned back to Sigrid.

"Well, it's not something I display," I grinned. "Only husbands can see it, or female kin."

"Only husbands, hmm?" Sigrid took a sip of wine.

"Oh shush," I ordered with mock severity, raising my hands to clap along with the rest of the dwarves as a space was cleared and dancing announced.

Fili appeared as quick as lightning, his hand outstretched and a broad smile on his face. Sigrid seemed just as eager, nearly jumping out of her seat and placing her hand in his so that he could lead her to where other couples had already begun to spin around the room.

I joined them later, when Dwalin offered me his hand and I had had enough of the sweet wine to agree. Thankfully, the dances were easy and simple, to songs in the common tongue. My partner was a joy to dance with, as he explained the histories of the songs. He moved with surprising grace for a dwarf so large, and I found that soon I was laughing freely and truly enjoying myself.

Sigrid was mirroring my expression; her eyes wide with delight as Fili kept a hold on her waist and swung her around. Where Dwalin and I were keeping a polite, respectable distance between us, there was only a sliver of space between Sigrid and the Crown Prince's body, one that seemed to be closing more and more each minute. I risked a glance to the top table, where King Thorin and Dís were seated, talking quietly with each other. I was nervous for Sigrid, given how obvious Fili was showing his affections, but his mother and uncle were looking down at the younger couple kindly, and Dís' smile was as smug as if she were a cat that had licked up the last of a rich, wonderful cream.

* * *

When at last Sigrid and I made our way back to our chambers, the both of us were pink cheeked and merry, thanks to the rich Dorwinion wine. Fili had taken it upon himself to escort us and we must have made a humorous looking trio: the Princess, giggling shyly, the Prince, whose moon eyes were only getting more pronounced the more Sigrid laughed, and I, the confectioner.

Fili opened the door to our sitting area with a flourish and sat down on one of the chairs. Sigrid perched on the edge of the opposite lounge, as if she wanted more than anything to sit by him but could not bring herself to do it.

I eyed the last vacant chair, but I smiled at the pair and opened the door to my own room.

"You won't stay, lady Anne?" Fili asked, though his eyes were fixed on Sigrid.

"I am tired," I said, with a pointed look at Sigrid. "I should like to rest a while. I will keep the door open, though." I said the last sentence firmer than perhaps I should have, but I wasn't born the last time it had rained – I knew a man near crazed with longing when I saw one.

"Aye, of course," Fili nodded and had the good sense to stand and offer me a deep bow, accompanied by a grateful smile.

I returned Sigrid's grin and walked into my room, glad that someone had come to light the fire while we had been at dinner. The flames crackled and danced, and I stood for a long while watching them and all the while wanting Bard. Oh, how I wanted him. My mother once said to me that anyone could fall in love – being _in _love was easy. Desire, passion, excitement – all were easy, simple. But love itself, on its own, was what was left after all of those pleasurable feelings were taken away, until you were bare and completely at the mercy of another. And I was; I was at his mercy. And how I abhorred it! If only he would declare himself to me, and release me from my torment.

I did not pay attention to the low voices in the sitting area outside, for my room was laid out in a way that I would have had to walk to my door to even see them and if I could give Sigrid anything, it would be privacy.

So I eased off my dress and reached for my robe, though I found myself stopping in front of the mirror. I turned slowly, looking at myself over my shoulder and pulled the shift tight against my body. I could see the outline of the black marks on my lower back, that looked almost like stars under the thin shift though I knew them to be diamond shaped; my mother had pierced my skin and rubbed the charcoal in, at points of equal distance until the marks formed a line across my lower back, then two more lines that grew from that and reached my shoulder blades.

The first line of marks signified my birth, my beginning. The two that branched off of it symbolized the day that I had reached my maturity – when I was no longer one, but two: the child that I had been, and the woman that I had become.

"Did they hurt?" Sigrid whispered from the doorway and I started, realizing that I hadn't even noticed that Fili must have left.

"They did," I nodded and smiled hesitantly when she came to stand beside me in front of the mirror.

"Did you not want to stop?"

"The women believe that there is a point where the pain becomes pleasure…" I trailed off, remembering how I had clenched the sheets with white knuckles at first as my mother worked. But after the haze lifted, I had found myself reveling in each sting until I was disappointed when she had finally finished.

"Such a different life you have led," Sigrid breathed and I smiled kindly at her and pulled the robe on over my shoulders.

"Not very different," I shook my head and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Would you tell me of your Prince? For you have seen my marks, and that is a right only for sisters or daughters," I raised an eyebrow and she blushed, stammering out an apology. "It is no matter," I waved my hand in the air with a grin. "But if you do wish to atone for your actions, then you must tell me what has passed between you and Fili, for even your mirror will see how your lips are bruised."

Sigrid's head snapped up and touched a hand to her mouth, and I laughed, needing no other confirmation.

"Oh," she sighed and sat down beside me. "He has offered me marriage."

I let out a breath and grabbed her hands. "Tell me! How!"

Sigrid leaned back on her hands and told me of how Fili had spoken with her for nearly an hour, telling her of his own history, his family and his hope for the future, both for the Kingdom and for himself. She had lost herself in his words, until when he commented on his desire for marriage, she had fallen into the conversation, not even aware that they were both talking of how she might adapt to the ways of the Khazad, or how such a union would bless the two Kingdoms.

Sigrid raised a small hand in the air when he made to move, having realized where their words had taken them. "I dare not," she whispered, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "Is your love not only a passing fancy?"

Fili smiled, his face changing until he looked like a young man fresh from the forges and not from the royal table. "Only a passing fancy, then? How long do you expect it to last?"

"Oh," Sigrid whispered, suddenly downcast. She had hoped he would protest the words; that he would vehemently deny that he could feel anything but love.

Fili laughed, as if he knew where her thoughts had gone. "Do you expect I will recover? From this 'fancy'? Nay, fair Princess, I will not. Dwarves love only once in their lives and I cannot leave this room without casting myself at your feet and asking you to be my wife."

Sigrid closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her like the most blessed of songs. She could not trust herself to answer him, not when all of her body was screaming: 'Yes.'

"And would you accept?" Fili asked, moving to kneel in front of her, his face only inches from hers.

She held out her hand again to fend him off.

"No?" he asked, his eyes dancing with delight.

"No," she replied, her voice sounding uncertain to both of their ears.

"You can choose, my love," Fili touched a hand to her cheek. "Just think a little. You could be my wife, you could be my love."

"I don't know how to do things," Sigrid protested.

"Like what?"

"Like… like speak your language, sing your songs…" she trailed off, the objection fading away when he placed a kiss to her cheek, his beard grazing her skin.

"I'll teach you."

His mouth moved until Sigrid could not tell where her breath began and his ended.

"I do not say yes," she whispered.

"And you do not say no," he agreed, finally closing the distance between them.

* * *

I lay in bed alone that night and again I could not sleep. After Sigrid's revelation, my skin was buzzing with excitement for her, but also for myself. How I wanted Bard to say those exact words to me! I tossed and turned, until finally I climbed out of the bed and folded my limbs down until I was lying beside the fire.

I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes, imagining Bard lying next to me, his fingers tracing patterns on my hip like he had done over a month ago.

I imagined him easing his body over mine, his lips on my skin, his hand pushing up my shift. In my dreams, he did not stop – instead he pulled it off me entirely, until I was bare before him and I could feel the hardness of his body against my own. When he raised a hand to touch my breast, I saw that a ring shone in the light of the flames and somehow I knew that I had succumbed to sleep, for here was Bard, lying beside me with a ring on his finger as if he had clasped his hands with me.

In the depths of my dream, I felt desire pool in my belly when he pushed me lightly to lie on my stomach and ran his hands over my back, his fingers tracing the marks that had been etched into my skin, until his hand left me and his mouth repeated the actions, his tongue lapping at my skin and driving me into such a frenzy that I woke, damp with sweat and cold; so utterly cold and alone.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

VirgCoup – thank you! Yes, you hit the nail on the head. My thoughts exactly.

Ofbloodandroses – It did help and I confess that I've included your thoughts in this chapter! Have you found where I've mentioned it?

Casema – Thank you, and welcome! I hope so, too.

Lystan – Noted! I'll see what I can do for you, my friend ;)

Inperfection – thank you!

\- The song, you will recognise, is Gimli's in LOTR, included as a nod to Balin. As for the tattoos - I'm of the opinion that it's surprising that more of the company didn't have them, considering the cultures that Tolkien based them off were often covered in them. To be fair, Tolkien didn't mention tattoos specifically, but I think it's a very logical thing for the Dwarves to have. Anne's own markings are from her Eastern heritage, and I've taken inspiration from the Ancient Egyptian women who often had tattoos that marked their station in life. I've also changed the story to M, just to be safe.


	12. Chapter 12

Three days in Erebor turned into six, when word came that there had been sightings of a band of Orcs moving about to the east of Dale. Bard sent a short note to Sigrid, instructing us to stay in the Mountain while a joint company of Dwarves and Men rode to the east.

From the moment the note came, I did not sleep. I could not. Bard had not said whether or not he would join the group of soldiers, but he was arguably the best archer in Dale. Sigrid and I constructed reason after reason for why he would choose to stay in the city, but neither of us could be sure.

One afternoon, when I had finished another session with the cooks, I decided that I had had enough of worrying. I made my way down the walkways and up the stairs, until I came to the same level as the upper treasury.

"I would like to see the King," I said tentatively to the guards who stood outside of the ornate doors to Thorin's study. "That is," I added politely, "if he has time."

The Dwarves shared a bemused look, and one knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. I could hear a few words being exchanged in their own tongue, before the guard turned back to me and waved me in.

Stunned, I smoothed down my dress and squared my shoulders. I hadn't actually expected to come in – I'd penned a short letter to be passed to Thorin instead, yet here I was.

The opulence of Erebor made me nervous to sit with King Thorin alone, but I closed my eyes and thought of Bard and his tidy, unassuming study. I imagined that I was going to see him instead and strode in the door, ignoring the guards who now had their lips pressed firmly together to hide the laughter that I was sure would erupt when the doors closed.

"Mistress Anne," Thorin greeted me from behind his desk and I sunk into a curtsy.

"Lady, if you don't mind, your Majesty," I said and bobbed my head again.

"As you wish," he replied, his mouth curving into an amused smile. "Have a seat."

I edged into the room and perched on one of the large chairs in front of the desk. I felt my nerves return when he stood and walked around the desk, and eased into the chair beside me.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Thorin asked with a perplexed, yet kindly expression.

"Ah," I began timidly, "I wish to ask about the welfare of the soldiers you have sent to confront the Orcs in the east. I was advised that you would know how they are progressing."

Thorin leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "The welfare of the soldiers?" he echoed and I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with how his eyes seemed to see right through me.

"Aye," I nodded firmly, though my eyes were now trained on my lap.

"Forgive me," Thorin said and I could hear the smile in his voice. "I thought for a moment that you wished to know more information, perhaps about who is involved in the company."

My head snapped up and I came face to face with the King, leaning back in his chair and studying me with a thoughtful look.

"Well," I cleared my throat. "Any information you would care to share would be greatly appreciated by myself and the Princess."

If it were anybody else, I would have congratulated myself in successfully inserting royalty into the conversation, to inadvertently push the person into revealing the information that I wanted. But this was Thorin and he merely raised an eyebrow.

"The King of Dale is not a member of the company," he said and I could not stop my relieved sigh, or my feeble smile when he let out a bark of laughter.

"I am transparent, it seems, your Majesty," I shrugged helplessly.

"Perhaps not as much as you think," Thorin moved forward again. "For I must confess that my thoughts were turned onto a very similar subject when your request to see me was announced."

"Oh?" I asked, confused. "You were thinking of my transparency?"

"Ha!" Thorin guffawed, a sound I did not think I had ever heard before. "No, my lady. You are the Princess Sigrid's companion, are you not?"

I frowned, feeling utterly bewildered by his line of conversation. "I am, your Majesty, though only for the purposes of this trip. In Dale, I am merely a member of the royal staff."

"Oh, I know," he waved a hand in the air. "But for all intents and purposes, you are her companion?"

I nodded slowly. "I am."

"Then perhaps you will understand my next question. I should like to know the… _feelings," _he said, knotting his fingers together, "on the idea of a union between Erebor and Dale."

"A union, your Majesty?" I questioned, though my stomach flipped. I understood exactly what he was saying, but I felt a strange desire to have him state his intentions clearly.

"Aye, a union," Thorin said plainly. He was obviously not going to speak any further on it, or elaborate.

This time it was me that leaned back in the chair. I was not one who liked being put on the spot, nor was I one that enjoyed the twists and turns of courtly conversations. I have always preferred plain, honest speech, of which I had had much of in Erebor, but not so in this study, with this King. I laced my own fingers together and said my next words calmly and very carefully.

"I have no political standing, sire, nor have I been in Dale for very long. Perhaps the King would be the best person to speak to if you wish to know the… _feelings _about such a union. Or perhaps the Princess herself."

I thought that he might take offence, but he laughed – a great, booming laugh. I found his good cheer infectious and soon I, too, was laughing along with him.

"You are quite right of course, my lady," Thorin grinned and for a second I saw where Fili and Kili had inherited the mischievous twinkle in their eyes.

"Can you forgive me?" He said next and I had to stop myself from batting my eyelashes. I shook my head minutely, amazed at myself.

"There is nothing to forgive, your Majesty," I stood and offered him an elaborate curtsy, prompting more laughter from the King. And to think I had believed him to be a dour, imposing man. Well, he was those things, but I could see now that the retaking of Erebor had worked magic on him – his heart was lighter than the man I had heard of, who had arrived in Laketown like a penniless pauper.

"Lady Anne?" Thorin called when I had laid a hand on the door handle.

"Your Majesty?"

"The welfare of the soldiers. All are in good health," he announced and let out another laugh when my cheeks burned a bright red.

"Oh," I bit my lip. "Yes, well. Many thanks, your Majesty," I managed to stammer. I curtsied again and darted out of the door before I made any more of a lovesick fool of myself.

* * *

To my utmost relief, we were given the all clear to make the ride back to Dale the very next morning. I was inwardly seething the whole way – Fili was curiously absent, though Kili rode with us and even his merriment was not enough to change my tune.

I was beyond frustrated. The King of Erebor himself had seen that I was head over feels for Bard; that much was blindingly obvious. So, who else knew? Sigrid of course; perhaps Bain, though Tilda seemed oblivious. Did the women of the court know? The ones who had sent their daughters to dance in the path of the new King, or to laugh extra loudly when he happened to walk past?

As we rode, I fell further into my mind, allowing it to run around wildly. King Thorin had only seen me once before the visit to Erebor, on the night of the Great Feast. So he had decided on that very night that I had taken a liking (I was unwilling to admit even to myself that Thorin might have known that I loved Bard, for that felt far too upsetting) to the King of Dale.

It felt like absolutely everyone knew that I was in love with Bard. Everyone except Bard himself. I ground my teeth together in annoyance. Bard was not a lumpish man; he was the King for Valar's sake. His arrow had smote the Dragon and by his clever thinking, Dale had risen from the ashes.

But then, given he was all of these things, why had he not spoken to me of his feelings? He had said to me months ago that he did not wish to have anything to do with me. But then the tease had kissed me so thoroughly only hours later that I still felt a burning on my mouth whenever I thought of it. Bard had continued to speak to me, continued to kiss me, continued to touch me. He was continuously contradicting himself.

And I was utterly sick of it; so sick of it that when we reached the stables below the royal house, I dismounted immediately and shoved the reigns into the waiting hands of a stable hand, something I never would have done if I were in a better frame of mind. I kissed Sigrid's cheek quickly, and muttered that I was feeling unwell and would she please have word sent to the kitchens to cover for me for just one more afternoon?

Sigrid nodded, frowning but I strode off back down the hill, running when I arrived at my street. I fumbled with the key, as usual, and threw the door open, slamming it shut with a growl of frustration.

I stomped up the stairs, two at a time and wrenched open the door to the study, turning to hang up my cloak when I realized how warm it was. Then I wondered, should it even be warm? It was winter, wasn't it? If I was alone, how was the fire even lit?

"Anne?"

I let out a scream and whirled around, curses flying out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Béma's bloody beard! _Bard?!"_

He had the good sense to look sheepish at my fright but the look was quickly replaced by a smirk. "Béma's bloody beard?" he repeated. "Did you go to Erebor or Edoras?"

At his words, I felt my previous anger dissipate until I was trying my best not to laugh, though I soon lost the fight and chuckled along with him. Despite my frustration, now that I was looking right at him, I was happy again. Such is the life of one in love.

"No," Bard said when our laughter faded, "you went to Erebor."

"I did? How can you be so sure?"

He was leaning against the doors to the balcony, his back to the view. I wished then that I had some sort of talent with art - I would've liked to take a likeness of him. Handsome beyond all measure, and in my house to boot! His plain clothes and black hair that was pulled back but still looked windswept. Brown eyes that were studying me intently; from my boots, to my riding leggings, to my tunic. I shifted on my feet, aware that without my cloak my clothing was far more revealing than anything he'd seen me in during the daylight hours.

"Oh, I am sure." Bard shook his head and crossed the room in two long strides. He stood so close to me that I instinctively moved until my own back was pressed against the wall.

"I am sure," he said and lifted a hand to graze my cheek, "because I have spent the last three hours in this very room, at that very window, waiting for the second that my Eastern woman, who swears like a Laketown fishwife might I add, would ride back into my city."

"Your city?" I was breathless as he laid his palms on either side of my head. I wasn't referring to his city – I did not care a damn about Dale in that moment; only that, in my absence, I had changed from 'a' woman to 'his' woman. And I wanted to be his woman – very, very much.

"Oh aye," Bard shook his head as if he couldn't believe the words he was saying, then leaned his forehead against mine. I realized that he knew exactly what I had been asking.

"_My _city," he said firmly and by then I had had enough.

I reached up and buried my fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to mine, barely stifling a groan when our lips finally connected. I poured all of my pent up anger and frustration into the kiss, and he returned it tenfold until I was sure that my mouth would be bruised if I ever managed to pull away.

The heat of him was everywhere. On my mouth, as his tongue demanded entrance; he bit my lower lip gently when I was too slow in granting it. On my waist, where one of his hands held me in an iron grip. On my lower back, where his other hand fumbled with my tunic until his fingers were on my bare skin. He had never touched my bare body before, not like this. Bard's hand felt like fire and I was soon pushing myself against him shamelessly, until there was no space between our bodies at all.

I was rapidly unraveling, letting myself get lost in him. Emboldened by his forwardness, I ran my hands over his back, delighting in the way he held me tighter in response.

I felt his fingers tracing the lines of where the nicks in my skin were. He brushed over them once, before his hand returned to them again and the pace of his kiss slowed until I could feel his mind working, trying to understand why my back was marred when it should have been smooth.

It broke the spell. Bard drew back, though only slightly, and kissed his way along my jaw, until I felt his breath at my ear.

"What is this?" he whispered, and then both of his hands were at my back, his fingers dancing over the patterns. The combination of the warmth of his touch and the sensitive layer of skin that covered each line of ink was intoxicating. I couldn't form words, couldn't explain until I felt his hands gently moving my body, positioning me so my shoulder was against the wall.

"No," I shook my head when he moved to push up the tunic and his hands stilled.

"What is it?" Bard demanded, and I saw in his eyes then an emotion that I wanted to file away and remember: fear.

"You fear for me?" I smiled softly, turning back and reaching out to smooth a stray hair from his forehead. He ducked his head.

"They were my own doing, nothing sinister," I shrugged. "We all have them."

'We' meaning women of Rhûn, Eastern women. I was about to elaborate further but he nodded, indicating that he understood.

"And can I not see? Will I be cursed if I look upon them?" Bard smiled and I felt his hands moving under the tunic again to flitter over the marks, though he didn't try to look again.

"Oh, yes," I grinned wolfishly. "Cursed to a horrible, painful death."

He bent his head and kissed my neck. I felt his teeth sink into the skin and my eyes closed.

"Sounds utterly terrible," he whispered.

I was nearly a melted puddle of desire on the floor. "Bard," I mumbled. "Bard."

He hummed against my collarbone in response.

"Bard."

"Ah," he finally took his mouth from my skin and bent his head until my shoulder was supporting his forehead. "Forgive me," he muttered, his voice strangled. "It seems I have forgotten myself again."

I chortled, delighted to see him as undone as I was. "Well, I am not complaining, but perhaps you may wish to explain why you wished to see me?"

Bard laughed and stepped away until there was a respectable distance between us. I frowned and pursed my lips, before I reached out a hand and laced our fingers together shyly, inwardly reveling when he smiled.

"I had a purpose in waiting for you, I truly did. But it seems I am easily distracted," he said sheepishly. I shrugged again, unable to hide my smirk.

"I wanted to tell you that I have organised lessons for you," Bard stood taller and the trace of his smile was gone. "There was no danger to Dale from the Orc pack, but I want you skilled, I want you able to defend yourself."

"Defend myself?" I echoed, confused and still trying to force my mind out of its haze of desire in order to think rationally. "Dale has an army."

"Oh, sweetheart," Bard grinned and my heart jumped. "You are far away, aren't you? You know as well as I do that there might be a time when the army, or even me," he took my other hand, "might not be there to protect you. Forgive me, but I desire to make sure you are all prepared, as best you can be."

"All?"

"All," he nodded. "Yes. You, Sigrid, Tilda."

I felt my cheeks heat until I was sure they were a blazing red. I did not miss that he had grouped us together – the women he wanted to protect. His women. When did I become one of them, I wanted to ask, but I lost my nerve.

"Right," I nodded. "Lessons. Lessons in what?"

"Well," Bard looked thoughtful. "I haven't completely decided yet, but at the very least I want you three to be good with a sword, handy with a knife and adequate in archery."

"Only all of that?" I questioned nervously. I was as clumsy as they came and had never learned any sort of fighting skills, except for keeping a dagger down my dress when traveling and knowing how to position my knuckles so it would break a nose, not that I'd ever had to do that.

"Only all of that," Bard smiled down at me. I returned his smile, feeling like my heart might burst when I saw just how much he cared for me. He hadn't said it out loud, had never declared for me, but I could forgive him that, for now at least.

"Well, alright."

He exhaled in relief and stepped back, sitting in one of the armchairs with his legs outstretched in front of him. I sat myself down in the one opposite.

"So," Bard began and I rested my chin on my hand. I didn't know how long his talkative mood was going to last, so I said nothing.

"Are you going to tell me how it is that you curse like a Horse Lord?"

I snorted with laughter and hid my face behind my hands. "Ah," I giggled. "You must think me horribly crude."

He threw his head back and laughed. I moved my hands, shocked at his blatant happiness, then moved them back again when he fixed me with a mischievous look.

"Not at all, my lady," Bard said with an exaggerated, courtly tone. By now my shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

"I served with the prince of Rohan for a year, you know Thengel? He married a woman from Gondor. I was in their service just before I came back to Dorwinion."

"Really?" Bard leaned back in the chair and I nodded, smiling. "And how does Rohan compare to Dale, do you think? Perhaps more similar than Gondor, considering the words that came out of your mouth when you saw me." He arched an eyebrow and I laughed again.

"Far more similar," I confirmed.

Bard rested his elbows on his knees and again his eyes moved over my clothes. "And your marks? The ones that will curse me to an early death?"

I let out a hoot of laughter and mirrored his position. "They're traditional."

"So traditional that I cannot see them?"

I took a hold of his hand again and turned it over, tracing the lines in his palm. "They're only for a husband to see," I mumbled.

I looked up at his intake of breath. I was relieved to see that he did not look uncomfortable, merely interested.

"And has anyone… seen them?" Bard asked hesitantly. I wanted to laugh – it was beyond amusing that we were having this conversation, when only minutes before his mouth had been on me like we ourselves were already hand clasped.

This time it was I that leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs out, feeling a strange confidence spread through my body. "The King speaks as if he wishes to know whether I have been married before."

Bard shrugged and spread his hands. "I am guilty of the charge."

I shook my head and grinned. "Nay, my lord, I have not been married."

He took my hand back and repeated my earlier action, turning it over and touching my palm. "Betrothed?"

I sighed. "No… not officially," I admitted, remembering the golden haired Rider that had stolen my heart before I'd left Minas Tirith.

"Oh?"

At that I raised an eyebrow and he grimaced. "I apologise. I'm not used to this…" he waved a hand in the air.

"This what?"

He shifted in his seat. "I don't really know," he confessed and I smiled.

"Peace, Bard. You can ask me what you want. Though I think that perhaps you should return to your house."

"Should I? Do you wish for me to leave?" Bard frowned and I shook my head.

"No," I said firmly. "But if you stay here, I don't know if I can trust myself to not divulge all of my secrets and then I will be at a disadvantage, because I know none of yours."

Bard chuckled and scratched the edge of the hair that lined his upper lip. "True, true."

He stood and I made to stand, too, but he leaned over and placed his hands on mine. "Don't," he smiled softly, placing a chaste kiss on my cheek.

I smiled, feeling bashful. "Alright."

"Oh, Bard?" I called out when he opened the door and he turned back. I bit my lip, wondering how best to phrase my next words. I felt like I was betraying Sigrid somehow by saying what I was going to say, and perhaps it was unwise, but I did not want to see her unhappy.

"We were welcomed very well in Erebor," I said carefully. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would deem it worthy of your time to thank the King, as well as the Crown Prince and his mother for making such an effort to make sure we were comfortable."

Bard looked at me for a long moment, as if he was trying to decipher a hidden meaning in my words. "You met the Crown Prince's mother?" he asked finally.

I knew immediately that I had planted the seed, so I simply nodded with a wide smile. "Oh, yes; a wonderful woman. She liked the techniques I introduced to them, and I do hope to meet her again. You'd like her."

Bard wore a thoughtful expression and smiled. "Well, that's good to know," he nodded. "Yes, good. Alright. I will return to my home and you may keep your secrets. For now," he added and I looked up at him, surprised when he shot me a sly grin.

"For now," I echoed and raised a hand in farewell.

"Well," I said into the air when he had shut the door, "if this is how he reacts, maybe I should go away every week."

"I forbid it!" came a muffled call and I burst into laughter, my heart pounding with joy as if I had just climbed the Lonely Mountain itself instead of having a full conversation with the man that I was so utterly and completely in love with.


	13. Chapter 13

"Tilda, Tilda-"

"No! You're saying it wrong!"

"Gods, Tilda!" Sigrid threw her hands up in frustration. "Come down!"

"I will if you say it properly. Anne!" Tilda's head poked out of her window. "I swear, I won't move from this room."

I stared up at her, my hand cupping my eyes to shade them from the early morning sun. Sigrid, Bain and I were standing in the garden below Tilda's window, trying our best to be patient as we waited for Tilda to come down so that we could begin our lessons that Bard had organised.

"Tilda, it's freezing!" Sigrid admonished and Bain grumbled something unintelligible in his voice that had begun the tumultuous dance of being stuck between low and high.

"Tilda!" I heard Bard's voice boom out from another room and I nearly lost it when he too put his head out of his window. "Tilda, go down this instant!"

"Oh, Valar, Sigrid, I can't-" I choked and stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth to stop a wail of laughter at the sight of the King of the city shouting at his daughter. There must have been only one or two rooms between them, but both had their heads all the way out the window and were facing each other with matching expressions of determination.

"Right, right!" I called when I had composed myself.

"Don't indulge her!" Sigrid shook her head and Bard shrugged helplessly, his head still hanging out of the other window.

"This doesn't leave the garden, do you hear me?" I shouted up to the two heads of hair, one brown and one black. Both nodded, one eagerly and one in exasperation.

I took a deep breath in and cleared my throat, pointedly ignoring how Bard was shaking with silent laughter at how I had stretched my hand out like a gallant knight.

"Rudabeh!" I hollered. "Rudabeh!"

"Yes, my prince?" came Tilda's shrill reply.

"Rudabeh, Rudabeh, let down your hair!"

"Oh, but it is not proper, my prince!"

"I'll have her head," Sigrid muttered.

"I'll put it on a platter and serve it to a warg," Bain croaked out in agreement and I took another breath.

"Rudabeh, Rudabeh! Won't you let down your hair?"

"Oh, alright then!" Tilda bellowed down to us and all of a sudden, a long line of rope was thrown out of the window.

"_Tilda!" _I yelled, gesturing furiously to Bard. "Don't you dare!"

Thankfully, Bard knew his daughter like a second skin and had already disappeared, presumably to run to the other room as if a pack of Bain's wargs were snapping at his feet.

Raised voices could be heard from inside Tilda's room, though none of us down below could discern what on earth was going on, until suddenly Tilda let out a hoot of laughter followed by a "Yes!"

"I'll skin you both alive! I will!" I shook my fist in the air, to no avail.

"No!" Sigrid shouted, her arms waving, but it was too late.

Tilda stood on the ledge of the window, with the rope tied three times around her waist. Bard was behind her, roaring with laughter as his youngest turned around and let him lower gently her down to the ground.

The distance was massive, colossal - absolutely enormous. All eight feet of it.

"Oh." I said flatly, having realised that from where we were standing, a rose bush masked a short wall of stone around the back of house that Tilda was now standing on top of triumphantly.

"Skin us alive?" Bard grinned wickedly from the window.

"Bain," I held out my hand, and Bard's only son, needing no other prompt, placed the scabbard of his knife (empty, but no one else needed to know that) into my waiting palm.

I growled, stalking towards Tilda like a wild cat with my hand on the end of the scabbard, disguising the lack of hilt, and hissed when she squealed and jumped off the wall, beginning a chase through the garden that ended with the both of us flat on our backs on the grass.

I couldn't hold my laughter in any longer and soon I was holding my middle and howling, wiping away tears as Sigrid hauled me to my feet.

"I swear, Tilda," Sigrid huffed from where she too was doubled over laughing, "I'll nail your head to the wall."

"And every day I'll walk past and stuff a cabbage leaf into your mouth," Bain said, naming Tilda's least favourite item of food and she winced.

"But it was absolutely wonderful! Don't you think, Da?" Tilda called out to Bard, still at the window.

"Oh aye," he nodded emphatically. "Haven't seen a better performance than yours, fairy Princess."

My mouth hung open at the familiar endearment and I met Sigrid's eyes, which only sent us off into more wails of laughter as we both thought of how Fili had addressed Sigrid in exactly the same way.

"What?" Bard called down, bewildered.

"Let him stew on it," I said to Sigrid, making sure to raise my voice so that Bard would hear. Sigrid and I linked our arms together, turning and following Bain as he led us all down the hill, though I couldn't stop myself from looking back and throwing Bard a playful grin, which turned into a fond smile when I saw the tender expression on his face.

* * *

"Fili sent me another letter," Sigrid whispered to me an hour later.

"He _what?" _I turned to her in surprise and Bain used my moment of weakness to knock the wooden sword out of my hands.

"Don't take your eyes off of your enemy!" He instructed me seriously and I scowled theatrically, wondering just when it was that a boy whose voice had not yet broken had come to be my teacher in the subject of self-defense.

"Alright, alright," I grumbled and bent to pick up the sword.

"Tonight?" Sigrid whispered and I nodded, jumping to the side and trying to dodge Bain's next blow.

"Shouldn't you be going easier on me?" I complained, rubbing my shin after I had lost yet another round.

"I am," Bain said pointedly and in response, I tossed the sword over to Sigrid, feeling more than just a little embarrassed when she managed to hold Bain off for longer than my record of a minute.

"Right," Bain set the swords down to the side. "Time to work with the knives."

Tilda gave a whoop of excitement and headed immediately over to where the other blunt weapons were stored. I followed gladly, as over the last fortnight I had managed to develop quite a skill with the small blades.

"No, Da says you're to learn with the real ones now. But you must do as I tell you, Tilda," Bain said with a stern look and she held up her hands in a show of innocence.

"Are you sure?" I questioned, cocking my head to the side. "Someone might get hurt."

Bain puffed out his chest and looked down his nose at me from his recently achieved new height. "Don't worry, I've sorted it all out. Besides, Da will teach Tilda himself. It's only you and Sigrid that have to practice this morning."

Tilda stalked out of the training ring with a huff, and her two guards scrambled up from where they had been lounging with amused expressions as they watched us train. I watched as they followed her back up the hill, until her little figure disappeared through the great doors of the house then I turned back to Bain.

He was a good teacher, even though it had been quite humorous for the first few lessons. I had imagined a gentle old man, or even Bard himself, but it seemed that in the years since the rebuilding of Dale, Bain had excelled in his training. He still had the natural haughtiness of a young boy hoping to prove himself, but I could see easily that he was on the way to becoming a fine man. He would be a good King.

"Now," Bain instructed Sigrid and I, "stand behind me and watch how I throw the knife."

I watched with great interest as his fingers curled around the hilt. He demonstrated a number of different techniques – the knife at his shoulder before he threw it straight at the wooden beam in front of us, embedding it deep into the middle (and flushing with a boyish pride when I couldn't stop myself from clapping), or holding it in front of his waist, his wrist flicking at the last minute and sending it flying to the top of the beam.

Sigrid went first, then I had a try. Bain watched us both, barking out comments every few moments: "Move your feet!" or "That was terrible!" or "Not bad, but you hit his arm and not his belly, not sure what you think that'll do."

By the end of it, we had improved marginally and Bain offered both of his arms to us as if he was a man of twenty and not the youth he was. We indulged him and he led us back up the hill to the hall, where I gave him an exaggerated curtsy and headed to my workroom to continue preparing for the Yule feast the following night.

If Dale was snowed under, then so was I. My small kitchen was filled to the brim with different types of ginger bread, sesame sugar snacks, preserved fruits, and sugar bowls. Cherries were bubbling away, spiced with aniseed and cinnamon from Harad that was so rare in these parts that I kept it under lock and key.

Personally, I did not often celebrate Yule. The courts in Minas Tirith were so separate to common life that I often attended tavern celebrations in the lower walls of the city, but it was not what I had been brought up with. My mother, bless her soul, kept to her traditions. Even just before she died, we were lighting the fire of _sadeh_ together, linking our hands and dancing around the fire, singing Eastern songs and drinking Dorwinion wine to mark the mid winter night.

Now, there was no one to mark _sadeh _with me, and so I threw myself into preparing, until I finally took a break long after the evening meal and headed over to Sigrid's rooms.

I found her wrapped up in warm blankets, on the floor in front of her fire, the letter in her hands.

"Are you reading it again?" I asked with a sly grin. "Must be good."

Sigrid blushed a deep red and I sat down on the furs beside her and stuck my hand out.

This time, there was only one letter in Fili's scrawling hand. I paused after reading the first line, and went and filled myself a glass of sweet, watered wine that had been brought by one of Sigrid's maids and settled back down on the floor.

I took a sip, and looked up at Sigrid. "Have you changed your mind? About his proposal?"

"Read it first," she gestured to the paper.

I bent my head down and concentrated on the letter, until I could hear Fili's low voice reading the words.

"_To my Princess Sigrid,_

_I dare to write 'my' princess, for I hold hope that you will be. I will wait for you, beloved. _

_Forgive me for not escorting you back to Dale. In truth, I had already won the right to do so in a gamble two evenings before your departure, a fine example that my love is not a mere fancy as I was playing as if Mahal himself was guiding my hands as I threw the dice. _

_But it was not to be. My uncle caught us at it and he was not amused. Do not fear him – he is a beast, but his bark is worse than his bite. But as a result of my dishonourable way of seeking to spend more time with you, I was sent down to the forges for a week. _

_Would you believe me if I said that I spent an extra day there more than I had to, for love of you? For every day that I labored in the heat, I saw you appear to me through the steam as if you were a goddess walking on water, your skin a smooth white gold and your eyes like diamonds. I have gone back to the forges in the days since, to try and fool my mind into seeing the vision of you again, but alas, I have had no luck._

_I must see you. Write to me, in your own hand so I know that your skin has touched the paper. Tell me when I can see you. _

_Fili."_

* * *

"Oh!" I exclaimed, having realised that Thorin would have spoken to Fili the night before I went to see him. That explained why he mentioned that he had been thinking about a possible union between the two cities.

"Oh indeed," I repeated, then theatrically wiped my brow. "Surely you must accept after this."

"I still don't know…" Sigrid trailed off and I shook my head in amazement.

"Sigrid, this man has confessed to being sent to do hard labour, which by the way would mean being in _naught but shirt sleeves,_" I arched an eyebrow pointedly and smirked when she sighed longingly, "and you're still not sure? What more must he do?"

In truth, I was directing that question to Sigrid _and _her father. I may not have been as direct as Fili, but what more did anyone have to do to get a straight answer?

"Da spoke to me _again _last night," Sigrid took a large mouthful of the wine.

"And?"

"And he said that our visit to Erebor only agreed with his suspicions!"

"What?" It was my turn to down my glass. "Whatever did _we _do?"

"No, not you and I. He brought up the Lady Dís – said that that's evidence that we're not suited, because she hardly leaves the Mountain. Da says they must be far too possessive of their women. Plus he worries that Fili might take on some of Thorin's… lesser attributes."

"What attributes? Thorin might be a bit _confident,_" I emphasized the word, thinking of how he'd seen right through me in the study, "but he's a good man."

"Da used the words 'pig headed'," Sigrid admitted and I snorted with laughter.

"Well, probably that, too, but it seems to me like your father is just trying to do what he thinks is right by you." I held up a hand to halt her protests and filled our glasses with more wine.

"But Sigrid, why does it even bother you if you haven't even decided to accept his proposal?"

"Good question," Sigrid tipped her glass to me. "I have decided."

"And…?"

"Well, if Da agrees, then I do too," she grinned widely and I clapped my hands, miraculously managing not to spill any of the wine.

"Perfect news! When are you going to talk to him about it? Oh no, what?" I asked when she took on a calculating yet sheepish look.

"Well… I thought we might do it together?"

I felt my mouth drop and my eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not," I said firmly. "This is your mess. I'm not getting in the middle of any more confusing matters of love with your family, you're all far too stubborn."

This sent Sigrid into hysterics and soon we were both laughing, hooting like washerwomen in the laundry instead of a princess and her confectioner.

"Sigrid?" I heard a muffled call and Sigrid groaned melodramatically.

A second later, Tilda poked her sleepy head into the room.

"Sigrid?"

"Yes, Tilda?" Sigrid shot me a smile.

"I can't sleep."

"Why not?" Sigrid asked her sister kindly.

"I keep seeing the dragon. Whenever I close my eyes, he's there," she replied and covered her eyes with her palms.

I looked at her, standing so small in her white nightgown. I felt such a rush of affection for her that it made my throat feel uncomfortably thick and I swallowed.

"Tilda," I said softly, "nothing will happen to you. Your father will always protect you, like he did when the dragon came."

Tilda shrugged her shoulders, obviously unsure of herself now in the deep blackness of the night.

"Would you tell me a story?" she asked, her voice so small that I almost didn't hear her words.

"Oh, Tilda-" Sigrid began but I held up a hand and shook my head at my friend, unable to deny this young girl anything.

"You have a letter to write and a speech to plan," I said pointedly to her and turned to Tilda.

"Which one?" I stood and took her hand, and let her lead me through the connecting door back to her own room. It was a lovely room, much like Sigrid's, with a four-poster bed and fine, white linen.

She got back into the bed and I sat on the end with my legs crossed under me.

"I wasn't afraid, you know. I knew it was a dream," she mumbled. I saw how she defiantly lifted her chin, not wanting me to see that she may have had a moment of weakness.

"I know," I shrugged. "Which story?"

"Will you tell me of Leila and Majnoon?" Tilda threw me a grin so hopeful that I wondered if she had constructed the whole thing, just to hear the story that I'd refused to tell her for months after she'd heard me refer to it in passing.

"No," I shook my head, amused, although perhaps that was the wine. "I told you, it's much too sad to tell when you have your whole life ahead of you."

"But I'd so like to hear it…" she trailed off.

I thought for a moment. The poem was one of the most widely told tales from Rhûn, of a man who falls for a woman so beautiful that he becomes known as the crazy one – "_majnoon_". He cannot sleep, he cannot think of anything but her, his Leila. All well and good, but he died in the end, wracked with a love that never eventuated into anything. I bit my lip, wondering whether I could explain that to a girl who needed to stay hopeful for at least a few more years yet.

"Choose something else."

"Rudabeh then," she decided.

"Rudabeh again?" I smiled, thinking of how I'd recited it to her once when I was working far too late into the night and she had wandered out into the hall where I had stopped for a warm tea. That very night had begun Tilda's interest in the stories that my mother herself had whispered to me when I myself could not sleep.

"Well, if you insist."

Tilda beamed and settled back onto the pillows. I leaned back, letting my hands support my body and waited until she had pulled the blankets up and closed her eyes, before I opened my mouth and began to recite the famed meeting between the two lovers, Rudabeh and Zal. I carefully omitted half, not wanting to put more ideas into her head, and began from her favourite part.

"_The black-haired and rosy-cheeked Rudabeh –_

_A cypress over which the full moon shone –_

_Went to the roof, and when the son of Sam appeared, _

_That high-born maid unlocked her coral lips and cried to him:_

'_Thou art welcome!'_

_And Zal heard the voice, and saw upon the wall_

_A sun-cheeked damsel, whose beauty set the roof a-gleam like gems._

_He made the answer: 'find some means for me to look upon thee! For why should thou be on the roof and I below?'_

_And the fair-faced Rudabeh heard the words, and removed her scarlet scarf, and unwound her plaits of black, coil upon coil, over the battlements until they reached the ground._

'_Speed thee quickly!' she cried, but Zal gazed upon her, marveling at her hair and face and kissed the ends of her hair._

_He said: 'this is not well! May no sun shine when I shall lay a wanton hand upon my Life.'_

_And he found a rope instead and threw it in his breathless haste, _

_ascending the wall to see his lover's face."_

I continued on and on, switching to curve my mouth around the strange sounds of my mother's tongue as the story progressed and Tilda's breathing began to slow. I loved my mother's language – it felt like I was speaking a rich, liquid gold. Others thought it guttural, harsh, but I knew better. Spoken quietly, softly, it was like a river that flowed over the smoothest of stones.

Finally, Tilda's chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. I watched her for a long time, wondering at the strange warmth that I felt in my heart at the sight of the young girl. It spread through my body, until it seemed that I was joined with her, like there was a weaver spinning golden thread from me to her, or like Rudabeh herself had wound her hair around us. I dared to wonder if this was what it felt like to love a child as much as if they were your own.

I unfolded my limbs slowly, stretching my stiff arms above my head and eased myself off of the bed. There was no longer any light coming from below the door to Sigrid's room, so I turned back, intending to make my way back down to the servant's quarters.

"What were you saying?" I heard a low voice whisper from the other side of the room and I turned to see Bard leaning against the frame of another door that must link his room with his youngest daughter's.

I put a finger to my lips and walked over, letting him put his arm around me as we watched her sleep.

"Did we wake you?" I asked, noticing that he wore only a thin white nightshirt and mismatched trousers. He shrugged, obviously still emerging from his sleep.

"Go back to sleep," I ordered with a smile. "She asked for only a story."

I looked up at him to see him watching me, his eyes carrying an emotion that I couldn't quite understand. He inclined his head towards his chambers in an unspoken question but I smiled again and looked down at my hands. I knew his intentions would only be honourable, perhaps he wished to talk or to thank me for helping Tilda, but it was late and I knew that if I stepped into the room, I would not want to step out of it.

"Goodnight, Bard," I whispered and rose on my toes to kiss his cheek.

His hand settled at my neck and he turned my head until our lips met, with only the lightest of pressure. I smiled against his mouth and kissed him again, then touched his arm in farewell and made to leave the room, when I felt his hand on my arm, tugging me backwards through the room, under a door frame and then into a small corridor. He shut the door to Tilda's room and we were engulfed in darkness.

"I can't see a thing," I whispered, reaching out blindly with my hands and sucking in a breath when they came into contact with his chest.

"Sorry," Bard chuckled and gathered my hands together. "I thought the Easterlings had invaded – I was asleep and then I heard what sounded like my daughter being taken in by a spell."

"A spell?" I rolled my eyes. "It was a _poem._"

"Whatever it was," he murmured and pulled me firmly against him, "it wasn't the worst way to wake."

I closed my eyes at the sensation of his hands encircling my waist, his fingers digging in until I could feel his touch through my dress.

Encouraged by the wine, I imitated him, my hands tentatively making contact with the sides of his body, enjoying the way his breath quickened in response. Still I could not see him, but somehow his mouth found its way to mine, and his lips began to move against my own in the shadows.

It began innocently enough; as innocent as it could have been in any case. But in the obscurity, the darkness, it slowly morphed into something else.

I knew it from the moment his hands paused from their chaste movements of only tracing the line of my waist. Bard's kiss slowed, as if he was thinking something over, then with fresh resolve he pulled me further into the room, guiding me back against the wall. I did not have one instant of reprieve; his mouth became firm, insistent, until my shaking lips parted.

I had never known such faintness as I did when his hand moved over my breast, cupping it through the material, his thumb moving over the sensitive skin. My eyelids fluttered with the intoxication of him, as if I had drunk a barrel of rum and not a mere two glasses of sweet wine. I did not know what to do with my own hands, so I settled for holding one at his neck and the other over his chest, where I could feel his heart pounding.

His other hand moved to my hair, deftly pulling apart my braids until it fell loosely over my shoulders. When I thought that I could take no more, he gently tugged on the ends, making me instinctively raise my head until we were both pushing and pulling with equal intensity, my fingers entangling of their own accord in his black hair, his beard scratching my cheek when he bent his head to continue his ministrations on my neck.

I took a deep, ragged breath in, tilting my head further to the side when his fingers tugged on the collar of my dress and he pushed it aside, baring my shoulder. His breath ghosted over the skin in the lightest of kisses, until he sighed and leant his head against my shoulder.

"I should…" My words halted; even my tongue did not want to move over the speech.

"No... Yes," he whispered in agreement. "You should…"

With a strength I did not know I had, I slid out from under him to leave, letting my nails scrape along his chest until he swore under his breath and laughed – a deep, uneven laugh.

I opened my mouth to bid him farewell but the words would not come, so like before I touched his arm and let him guide me in the darkness to where the door was to Tilda's room. A small part of me realised what I had almost done – realised that I could not have resisted him if he had not stopped.

I turned, then, and leaned into his chest, smiling when his arms encircled around me. "Thank you," I murmured against him, voicing my appreciation that he had been strong enough to stop when I had not been.

He laughed again quietly. "You should be running from me, not thanking me. I cannot help myself… I feel as if you have consumed me. I don't know what to do about it."

My mouth stretched into a wide, satisfied, catlike grin. My cheeks glowed, reacting to the strange sense of triumph that his words made me experience. I wanted to answer him and say: 'declare for me'.

In a moment of weakness, I slipped into my native tongue. "_Kharahbetam_," I whispered, gripping onto his arms and squeezing.

I wanted to explain what I meant, what the word meant. Instead, I exhaled and looked down, disregarding his confused expression.

"Thank you," I repeated and quickly darted out of the room before I could run back into his arms, the way I wanted to.

I carried my newfound warmth with me all the way to my cold little room. I didn't want this feeling to ever end – I wanted to feel my heart bursting always, wanted to feel my skin buzzing until my last breath. Though for all of that, all of my happiness, I felt troubled.

As I settled into my own bed, with my many thinner blankets and recited the words I'd told Tilda quietly in my mind, I thought of my mother. My beautiful mother, who had loved my father more than anything, then given all of that love to me. My mother, who at the end of her life had warned me that no inch of happiness is without a trial, that there is no sun that shines and does not set.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

Thank you to the new followers, reviewers and favourites!

A few things:

_Kharahbetam – _in Persian, this is similar to Bard's "You consume me," but goes further, meaning: "you destroy me". Quite apt for our bowman and his disarming ways. 'Kha-raah-beh-tam'

The story of Rudabeh is perhaps the original Rapunzel. It can be found in the massive ancient poem called the Shahnameh, which I've summarized a tiny part of in the story for Tilda. I've used these stories as part of my own theories around the Easterlings and Rhûn as a whole, considering we know next to nothing about the land or the people there. Leila and Majnoon is also a very famous old poem, popular due to its 'virgin love'. A good read, if anyone has the time.

Katnor – thank you! I love your reviews. I like Dís, too. Let me see what I can do.

FanofFiction – I will do my best!

Debatable-cerealkiller – Thank you! So glad you enjoyed it.

Dhalmi93 – thank you!

Inperfection – I'm glad! I often feel a bit funny writing humor, but thought I'd give it a go.

Lystan – Your wish is my command, my dear!

Casema – Thank you! I'm glad. I have always thought that Thorin, if he survived, would have been far less of a doom and gloom type person that we see him as, considering he's redeemed himself in battle yet had the chance to survive and grow from it.

My dear readers – if I take heed from the amount of reviews and new followers from the last chapter in particular, it seems that you love: a talkative and honest Bard (who doesn't?), a light hearted Anne, progression for Fili and Sigrid, a dash of a mischievous and meddling Thorin, along with Dís. I will keep that in mind ; )


	14. Chapter 14

"I predict…" I began ominously, lowering my voice and waving my fingers, "that you will have three sons-"

"Why three?" Tilda questioned, her sharp little eyes trained on the cup.

"Don't question it. I predict that you will have three sons, two daughters-"

"Only two?"

"_Tilda!" _

"Sorry, Sigrid. Carry on, oh venerable enchantress," said Tilda.

"Venerable enchantress?" I laid my palms flat on the table and stared at the little girl opposite me. "I'll have you know that this is an _art form._"

"You're looking into a coffee cup," Bain said blandly from his seat beside us.

It was the morning of Yule and the children and I were in the hall. They had dragged me out of my work room where I had been since dawn and demanded that I at least have a bowl of porridge with them before the celebrations were due to start at sundown.

One of the maids had run in earlier, crying out that some Southern coffee had been procured from Gondor and would someone please read her fortune? And that was how I came to be sitting at the end of the hall with Bard's daughters drinking the thick, bitter coffee so they could have their future told. Bain had vehemently refused both the coffee and the reading.

"Would you read mine?" Sigrid asked when Tilda had decided that it was taking too long. I grinned and took her cup, moving slightly so the light of the window made the picture clearer.

"It's quite simple," I said and smiled widely. "A man, from somewhere other than your city-"

"You're making it up!" Sigrid protested and I held my hands up innocuously.

"I am not! Let me finish. A man, from another city… You will marry…"

"Marry!" she exclaimed loudly, stopping a servant boy in his tracks.

"Sigrid!" I hissed but it was in vain as Bard looked up from where he had been eating his own porridge with one of his advisors on the other side of the hall. I thought he would ignore us but he arched an eyebrow and said a few words to his companion before walking over to our table.

"Who's getting married?" he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"No one if she keeps going like this," I muttered to myself, shaking my head at Sigrid as she blushed and stared down at her lap.

"Pardon?" Bard looked from Sigrid to me, and back again.

Bain must have decided that his assistance was required, because he swallowed his last spoonful of porridge and joined the conversation.

"Anne's getting married," he announced.

"Bain!" I stared at him incredulously, my mouth wide open. He must have only heard the end of the exchange as he shrugged innocently.

I turned to Bard, ready to deny it but stopped when I saw his hurt expression.

"Are you?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair and frowning in confusion when I shook my head.

"I am _not,_" I said pointedly to Bain, "getting married. _Your_ son," I directed this to Bard, whose mouth was now twitching at the corner, "must have heard the reading incorrectly."

"Reading?" Bard grinned widely, all hurt forgotten and I found I was smiling back at him and feeling relieved, though I couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why.

I closed my mouth abruptly and kicked Sigrid's foot under the table, hoping that she would come to my aid.

"Yes!" Sigrid nodded her head and I rolled my eyes. "Anne's been reading our coffee cups."

"I… uh…" I stammered at Bard's bewildered expression and decided the safest way of exiting the conversation was just to, well, exit.

"Right, I'm off," I stood quickly and grabbed the coffee pot and cups. I bobbed a curtsy and hurried back to my workroom.

I put the pot back on the fire to heat it again, hoping to enjoy one cup in peace before I went back to my work. Though no sooner had I taken it out and placed it on a folded cloth, ready to pour, I heard three sharp raps on the door.

"Sigrid," I grumbled as I made my way over, "you had better have a good reason why- oh!"

Bard raised an eyebrow at me from the other side of the door. I bit my lip, remembering the night before as I watched his eyes travel over my form, clad as usual in a simply cut dark brown dress. I self-consciously patted my hair that I had braided and tied into a knot at the nape of my neck. He smiled.

"Don't do that," I breathed and sagged against the door.

"Do what?" he asked, as chastely as a stable boy and I laughed in response, stepping back to let him in.

"Don't look at me like that. I can't concentrate," I admitted and rubbed my forehead. "Ah, see?" I held out the cups. "I don't know what I was even _doing._"

Bard snorted with laughter and took the cups, purposefully letting his fingers brush mine and smirked when I threw my hands up in exasperation.

"Let me help you, then," he smiled and moved over to the fire, heating the pot again then holding a small strainer over each cup as he poured the rich, dark liquid into them.

"For you," he presented my cup to me with a bow of his head.

"Well, this is a nice change," I quipped, holding the cup with both hands and bringing it to my mouth.

"What? Me serving you?"

I nodded cheekily. "Aye, it's not everyday the King himself pours you a cup of coffee."

Bard hummed and looked down at his cup, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile.

I sipped the coffee and moved back around to my workbench, studying the plates I had arranged. The other cooks had agreed to deliver their sweet pies and cakes later on in the afternoon, and I had almost finished my portion of the display. I wanted to pluck up the nerve and ask Bard what he thought of the trays, glistening with sweetmeats and nuts. But something in his expression made me stop – for one tiny second, he looked wistful as he looked down into his steaming cup.

I felt my fingers grip onto the table. It was silly, to feel slighted by a woman who had done you no wrong, yet I did; I was envious of who Bard had been thinking of, that had made him look so pensive, so… sad. What had he been remembering? Domesticity?

I tried to draw courage from the warm liquid, tried to reach out and touch his hand but my hand only moved an inch on the table. So I gave up on physical comfort, and instead I remembered something I'd managed to find on a market run the day before. I set my cup down and bent down in front of the bench and opened all of the drawers, trying to remember where I had put it.

"What are you looking for?" Bard asked and crouched down beside me. He was so near that our shoulders kept brushing each time I put my arm out to check another drawer.

"Something," I mumbled and huffed, stretching my arm all the way to the back of the top drawer. "I was sure that I put it here… ah! Here it is."

I turned on my knees and shyly held my palm out, enjoying the bemused way he eyed the small, brown square in my hand.

"What is it?" Bard touched the square with his index finger hesitantly.

"I saved it for you," I admitted. "I thought… I thought you might like it."

"Saved it? From what?"

"From every married woman in Dale," I pronounced then winced when his head snapped up. "Sorry. No, I didn't mean that. Just eat it."

After a long moment, he took the small square between his finger and thumb and put it into his mouth. At first he looked puzzled, then unsure, then I saw that I had chosen right when his eyes closed and he made an appreciative noise, deep in his chest.

"What is it?"

"Chocolate," I whispered, as if I was sharing a great secret. I was, actually – it was as rare as hen's teeth this far from Umbar and it had taken considerable strength to elbow away the rest of the women to get my hands on the last piece at the seller's stall.

"Chocolate," he sounded out the word and shook his head. "Do you have any more?"

I laughed and stood, stretching my arms out above my head and stepping to the side when he got to his feet. "If you knew what lengths I had to go to, just to get _that, _you wouldn't ask."

"Oh," he shifted on his feet. "Sorry. I didn't get you anything in return…"

"Get me something?" I took a sip of coffee. "Whatever for?"

"For Yule," he frowned and pursed his lips. "I didn't even think of it…"

"It's not for Yule," I cut in, feeling utterly embarrassed at the way he was suddenly very interested in his feet. "Please, Bard. I just thought you'd like it, is all."

He nodded, still looking down and I sighed. Was there ever going to be an end to our awkward encounters? If we weren't locked in an embrace, it seemed that we were just running around in circles with my silly actions and his silence.

"Right," he looked up and shot me a grin. "Well, best be off."

He placed a quick kiss on my cheek and moved to the door, whistling under his breath. I stared after him, bewildered as I heard his whistling getting louder the further he went from my room.

Then the whistling came back down the corridor again and he opened the door and poked his head in.

"Oh, Anne?"

"Bard?"

"Why did every married woman want the… chocolate?"

I pressed my lips together. Should I? Perhaps a thinly veiled hint wouldn't hurt…

"Ah…"

"Ah?"

"Well. It… well, you see…" I looked away, embarrassed.

"I don't see anything at all, I'm afraid," Bard smirked and in spite of my next horrendously inappropriate words, I chortled then took a deep breath in.

"It warms the blood," I answered finally, my face carefully blank.

Bard looked down, befuddled, then, inevitably, he coughed and immediately retreated, closing the door with a decisive thud. Though it took all of my composure not to giggle with wicked glee when I heard his whistling resume, so loud that no one in the royal house could have missed it.

* * *

Like they had for the Great Feast, the boys came and loaded up my trays onto a long, wooden plank. Two didn't fit, so I found myself balancing one against my hip and the other on my head as I sashayed down the corridor, humming an Eastern tune. No one was in the hall, so I set to arranging the trays and plates myself, glancing around then letting my humming turn into singing.

"_I have only seen him from afar," _I sung in my Eastern tongue, twirled and plopped a bowl of almonds down on the table in the centre of the room, stopping to toss one into my mouth, "_and I do not know his name." _

Next, roasted chickpeas rolled in sugar. "_I go around and around the city, calling out for my love."_

I held a plate of preserved figs and sweet dates drizzled with rosewater and sesame seeds, and turned on my heel, rolling my hips and holding the plate as if it was a dancer's rod. "_I call out all the names that I know, hoping one is his."_

After that I spun and picked up a tray covered in countless amounts of little figures of sugar; roses, pomegranate flowers, buds of jasmine. _"Come to me - Jassim, Khaled, Nader or," _I set the tray down and clicked my fingers, adding an extra name, "_Bard, come to me."_

I sung his name quietly – even when said with an Eastern lilt, it was still the same natural, unadorned name. Bard.

I sighed theatrically and spun around again, placing more trays down of soft, pink fudges, cardamom biscuits, more sweet, preserved fruits and another plate, covered with pieces of a semolina cake, cut into diamond shapes and drowned in a mouth watering syrup. My mother had taught me the recipe, and it was the first time I had ever made it for the court in Dale. I peered at it, bending with my hands behind my back to examine the cake, then clapped my hands together in excitement when I decided that it was absolutely, deliciously perfect.

Returning back the way I had came, I went first to wash, then changed my clothes to a new dress that I'd had made a few weeks before. No Eastern woman worth her salt went to the _sadeh_ fire wearing old clothes, so with my mother's wagging finger in my mind, I'd ordered a new gown of dark green; still in my usual long sleeved, slim cut, but (in a moment of indulgence) with a round collar that bared my collarbones and the back of my neck. It was nothing like the dresses that more daring maidens would wear, given the ink on my back would set tongues wagging for years to come if I wore some of the more revealing styles they favoured, but it was, for lack of a better word, pretty.

As I began to braid my black hair, my hands slowed when the memory of braiding Sigrid's hair in Erebor came to my mind. I had imitated the Lady Dís in a simple style, though now that I thought of it, Dís did not seem a simple woman. No - she was commanding, confident, sure of herself. In no way was she a woman that allowed men to make decisions for her.

Where had Bard even got the idea that she was closeted up in the Mountain? Misguided fatherly instincts, I decided. Dwalin had told me once, on our second last day in Erebor, that Dwarven women simply preferred to stay within their own walls.

"And it's no wonder," he'd said with a shrug. "Look at you and the Princess – you should both be a-courtin' and dancin' and yet you're both running around cooking and signing trade agreements, as if it's one or the other. A Dwarrowdam does all of that, but still forges her own happiness."

Dwalin was right, I decided. I began to twist the strands of hair together at the sides of my head, braiding them until both sides met at the back of my head and I tied it off with a leather band. With fresh resolve, I left the rest of my hair loose in a nod to the Lady Dís and pinched my cheeks to colour them. Perhaps Dwarven women weren't the only ones who should make their own happiness – seize it, take it into their palms and never let it go. Perhaps Sigrid and I should do the same.

I took one last look at myself and smoothed my hands over the skirt of the dress. I left my room and walked down the quiet corridor, to the last door, and entered the eerily silent hall.

It was filled to the brim with people, from all stations of life. No torches were lit, no voices were speaking, and I walked over to a vacant chair and settled in to wait.

The front doors were thrown open a second later, revealing Bard holding a burning piece of wood. He stood for a moment on the threshold, before he walked through the middle of the long hall, up the stone step and onto the platform where the largest fire in the royal house was normally kept.

Bard bent and knelt before the fire. He held the flame aloft, showing us all, then placed it in the centre of the freshly cut wood, and new flames quickly roared to life. With that, the hall erupted with cheers and claps, and Sigrid and Tilda walked out from where they had been waiting at the side and Bard handed them their own lit pieces of wood. They took the wood to fires on opposite sides of the hall, and I remembered that the show of femininity was to encourage fertility in Dale – not only of women, but of the lands and waters around it.

It was a beautiful sight to watch. Sigrid was ethereal in a simple white dress, the flames dancing on her skin, and Tilda was as pure as the bud of a flower, beautiful with her cream coloured gown.

I cheered as loudly as the rest of the crowd did when the girls had lit the fires and clapped as Bard announced the beginnings of the three days of celebration. There was to be no feasting tonight, given the late hour, as everyone had already eaten – instead barrels of Dorwinion wine, ale and sweet meads were brought out and set along the walls, met with a resounding shout of approval from the men in the hall.

Bard himself stepped down from the platform to remove the silk from my own table – he slid it off slowly and carefully, letting the material run through his fingers, and I flushed with pleasure when I saw how he clapped the most when the arrangements were revealed to the crowd. The cooks had come later and added their own sweets, so the tables were overflowing with decadent delights, enough to feed the entire city of Dale and send them into a saccharine state of satisfaction.

I walked around the hall slowly, talking with other women from the kitchens. We were in our element, us women – the men would drink too much and we would get to dance with the knowledge that it wouldn't be remembered in the morning.

I was having a delightfully dull conversation with one of the cooks when the dancing was announced. Thankfully, it was not the dancing of normal, courtly events, but dancing of joy: barely styled, barely organised. Instead couples whirled and bounced around, throwing their heads back as they laughed with the joy of people who lived in a beautiful city.

I smiled, enjoying the show of happiness and shared a wink with Sigrid, who was standing with her father as they spoke with one of the older women of the city. Bard looked up and caught my eye, nodding in a silent greeting and I raised my glass to him, taking a small sip and grinning when I saw him swallow thickly.

Suddenly, I felt almost as if Dwalin was behind me, giving me a hearty push and I found my feet walking over to the King.

I stopped a few feet away but the older woman turned and I saw with surprise that it was Hilda, the wife of the new Master of Laketown.

"Anne!" Hilda cried, loudly as usual, and I hurried to her and kissed her cheek.

"Hilda! I didn't expect to see you here."

"Where else would I be?" she grinned like a cat. "Percy heard Bard's finest ale would be here, and he wouldn't miss that for anything."

"Pah!" I chortled. "Not even a night with his gorgeous wife and family?"

"Not even that," she inclined her head over to where Percy was dancing around with his youngest little girl.

"And what of you, Anne?" Hilda asked and I turned back to her with a shy glance at Bard, who was watching us with an amused expression, not saying a word.

"What of me?" I asked innocently, taking a sip of wine and grinning impishly when she let out a hoot of laughter.

"Oho! You can't hide anything from me, girl. Is he here tonight?"

"Yes," Bard cut in, his hands behind his back. "Is he, Anne?"

I looked between the two faces – Hilda was looking crafty and Bard was pursing his lips to disguise his laughter. I harnessed my inner Dwarrowdam and shrugged my shoulders with a sly smile.

"Might be," I returned. "Not that I would know - he hasn't asked me to dance, nor spoken to me all evening."

"Not even once?" Hilda crossed her arms and shook her head. "Men, Anne. I'll give you some advice: unless your head were replaced with a tankard, they won't give you a second look, even in that pretty little dress. Now you might be all high and mighty now," she said and turned to Bard, her hands on her hips. "But you'd better ask her, and soon. She won't wait much longer."

With that, Hilda strode over to where her husband was dancing and joined in, linking her hands with her little girl.

I stared after her, then looked back at Bard. Without a doubt, I was sure that my stunned expression matched his. He seemed to recover quickly, though, and shook his head.

"She's always been… perceptive," he shrugged sheepishly.

"I didn't mind," I admitted boldly and squared my shoulders when his eyes widened. "But I would like to know something, given it is Yule after all."

"I thought you didn't celebrate Yule," he said, his mouth curving at the side, and my gaze predictably fell to his moustache and beard, that I now knew to be delectably soft.

"It seems I do now," I said with a pointed gesture at my wine and new dress and he laughed.

"It _is_ a pretty dress," he quoted Hilda and I turned away, feeling a blush heat my cheeks.

Thankfully Sigrid decided to interrupt and looked between us with an indulgent expression that wouldn't be out of place on a woman looking on young lovers. I myself had probably looked at her and Fili in exactly the same way.

"Da," Sigrid laid a hand on his arm. "Ask Anne to dance, would you?"

I covered my mouth, hiding my laughter when he whispered something in her ear, but a giggle escaped when I heard that it was something like "I was planning on it," followed by "I'm not a young lad anymore, Sigrid."

Sigrid shot me a victorious grin and sidled away, and I set my glass down when Bard held out his hand. I deliberated, shifting on my feet but couldn't hold my false façade for long and placed my hand in his, and let him lead us out.

His hand gripped my waist and held me against him, while our other hands were clasped together. The music grew faster and faster as we danced, and I soon found that I was smiling from ear to ear, laughing as he led us around the hall. The rest of the dancing couples were already well into their cups and no one paid any attention when he drew me closer when the tune changed slightly, and no one at all saw when he bent his head to my ear.

"What did you want to know?" he whispered, the hand on my waist digging in just a little bit more than what was proper.

I looked back at him, wondering if the desire in my eyes was as clear as it was in his.

"I wanted to know…" I began and cleared my throat. "I wanted to know, if… if Hilda was right."

"About what?" he smiled softly when I looked to the side, embarrassed. "Tell me."

"If she was right when she said you'd better ask me soon," I blurted out, feeling immeasurably glad when the music changed again, louder this time as more men joined in and sang along.

Bard didn't answer for a long moment and I looked away from his pensive expression. We did another loop of the hall and he still didn't answer.

The dance changed to one with actual steps, and we soon parted, before drawing back together, our palms flat as we circled each other in the courtship dance. He was watching me with an unreadable expression that seemed to darken each time we parted and came together again.

"She might be," he said finally, when his hands were on my waist, holding onto me firmly as he lifted me into the air. "And if she was right…" he trailed off as he gently set me down, "would that be agreeable to you?"

"Agreeable?" I echoed, suddenly feeling all of my courage return in a wave. I smiled at him, sideways under my lashes, as we circled each other again. "But, Bard, whatever do you mean? No one has asked me anything. I shall have to reconcile myself to being alone for all my days, as no one has asked me anything at all."

He was lost for words. "But I thought…" he began and I couldn't help but let a delighted laugh escape. I stepped away from his hold as the dance finished and curtsied, before walking back to the other side of the hall. When I turned back, just once, I saw him running a hand through his hair and swearing under his breath and I knew the joy that every woman knows, when she has got a handsome man on the run.

.

.

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* * *

A/N

Welcome, as always, to the new followers &amp; reviewers! I'm always glad to see new readers review, so thank you!

I've referenced her before, but the very last few lines in this chapter are heavily influenced by a simply delicious scene in "The Other Boleyn Girl" by Philippa Gregory. Give it a read.

The first scene is inspired by my very own mother in law, who saw me coming years before my husband ever did!


	15. Chapter 15

In the Eastern lands of Rhûn, when a man wishes to court a woman, he sends his mother to her mother. They talk over tea and sweets, and if the woman is receptive, the man will come another time, then again and again.

The family of the man comes to the home of the woman, with a bag of silver coins. If she accepts his suit, she takes the coins, then the next day she will go to his home with her own bag of coins. When the man accepts them, the betrothal period has begun. From that day forward, she takes his family name as her own, and is joined with him until their hands are clasped on a spring day, always a spring day, for all to see.

In the far Southern lands, a man of Harad approaches the father of the woman and asks for his approval to meet her, and often after only that one meeting, they decide if they wish to spend their future together. He gives her family the dowry, unlike Rhûn where the woman (like in the West) brings a dowry to her new home.

I came to know later that for the Dwarves in Erebor in particular, a courtship is often formal and organized, as there are so few Dwarrowdams that marriages are treated with the utmost care. They, too, have a bride price, where the Dwarf will labor to provide his intended with her weight in gold, or jewels, or whatever his skillful hands can make for her.

I realised long ago that I would never have such a courtship, for even in Dorwinion, the Eastern ways were fading fast, and Bard did not seem to be a man to take me on chaperoned walks, or request my presence for cups of afternoon tea. But never would I have thought that the courtship that I _did _have would be far, far sweeter.

The second day of the Yule festivities began quietly. I had left the hall soon after my dance with Bard, and so I was fresh faced and rested when the cockerels crowed at dawn. I stayed huddled in my blankets, my nose burrowed into the warmth, indulging in the knowledge that I was free for the day.

After an hour or so of drifting in and out of sleep, I finally rose and went to wash, then made my way back into my room and changed into my red dress. It had been far too cold to wash my hair, so I wove the strands together instead and left the braids hanging down my back.

I followed the smell of breakfast and went through the doors to the main hall, heading first to the main kitchen door and sourcing a bowl of oats. I topped it with a generous drizzle of honey then headed back to the hall, grinning when I found Hilda already seated with two steaming cups of tea.

"Ah, she wakes!" Hilda patted the table.

"Me? There's no one else here," I said pointedly and gave her my bowl, before grabbing another from the kitchen then returning to the table.

"Where is everyone?" I asked as I dug into the sweet oats.

"Oh, they're all asleep. They'll be that way for a good few hours yet," she raised her cup of tea to me in a mock toast.

"Even Bard and Percy?" I smiled wickedly and sipped the hot liquid.

"Ha! They were the worst of the lot. Bit by a barn weasel, they were."

"Hmm?"

"You know. Far too much bread and cheese in the attic."

"Too much what?" I shook my head in bewilderment.

"Tippled? Tap-shackled? Bousy?" Hilda tried, then took another spoonful of porridge. "I forgot you spent all that time in Mundburg. 'Well into their cups', you might say."

"Oh! Surely they weren't!" By this point we were holding onto each other's hands over the table, and I felt nefariously grateful for Hilda's company – as much as I enjoyed time with Sigrid, there was something to be said for a good talk with a woman who had lived, learned, and come out of it as honest as I liked.

"Oh aye, they were. As soon as everyone left, those two were stumbling around, Percy on his lute, Bard singing something that sounded like: 'no one's asked her, maybe I should ask her, else I'll be alone for all of my daaays.' Sound familiar?"

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the hoots of laughter. "No. Not familiar at all," I said finally when the giggles had subsided. "Are they always so bad?"

"Bard and Percy? Gods, those two grew up together. They've seen each other through everything. Percy wouldn't even talk to me until Bard told him he thought I was 'alright'."

At that, I snorted with ungraceful laughter, picturing Bard and Percy as young men, assessing each other's choices. Would Percy approve of me?

"Both of them lost women, you know," Hilda said, and I took one look at her sorrowful expression and moved around the table to sit beside her.

"Both?"

"Aye, Percy was married long before Bard. No children, she died in a fire not long after the wedding."

"Oh Hilda… I didn't know…" I put a tentative hand on her arm.

"Well, it was like that, Laketown. Every one of us has lost someone. The old Master didn't care for anything but his gold, didn't even bother trying to make a wooden town safe. Or stocked well with supplies," she grimaced.

"Bard's wife?" I asked in a small voice and she nodded.

"Aye. Igna was a good woman, a good mother to the older two. She might have survived, if the old Master hadn't cut the bridges the night before. He'd heard whispers that someone was after his position. Bard thought to go to the Elves for her, but he couldn't even get out of Laketown in time."

"What about the barge?" I looked away and roughly brushed a tear from my cheek.

"Too much ice that winter, it would've taken too long."

"Of course," I nodded, feeling sick to my stomach. "Sorry," I added, when Hilda took in the tear tracks on my face. "Sorry."

"Calm yourself, Anne, it won't do any good now."

I nodded again and wiped my face with my sleeve. I hadn't known anything about the mother of Bard's children, his wife. A part of me thought it would be better to stay ignorant – it might have been easier not to know. But now, I chastised myself for wanting to omit something, _someone, _so important to the man that I claimed to love.

"I didn't tell you that to see you cry," Hilda pinched my arm and I laughed quietly. "I wanted you to know that I understand. It took Percy a long time to even come around to the idea of marrying again, and for months he was hot and cold with me. I spent a long time thinking I wasn't good enough – but it had nothing to do with me."

I stayed silent, sensing that she was not quite finished as she took another sip of tea.

"Bard isn't too different, but there's a lot for him to think about. Not just his children and his heart, but the city, too. He may have come from next to nothing, but Dale has always been his birthright. He never forgot it. He'll be wanting to be sure that any woman he marries will make a good wife and lead the house, even the city if it's needed."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I had woken in the middle of the night a week ago with that exact thought, as for some reason I hadn't even taken into consideration the responsibilities that would come with marriage to Bard. He acted so much like he was just the bargeman, just the bowman; thinking of him as a King kept me awake for hours.

"Anyhow," Hilda continued, "he'll come around in time. He just has to see that he's not doing anything wrong by making an honest woman out of you. Time he thought about himself for a change."

"Oh," I shrugged helplessly, though I was inwardly thrilled to think a woman who had known Bard for so long thought that he might return my feelings. "Now I feel like I've gone and pressured him."

"Not at all!" Hilda shook her head firmly and pushed my tea closer to my hand, and I gladly took a long sip. "You haven't. Half the men in Laketown wouldn't know love unless it came on the end of a hook, but Bard's not one of them. If his terrible singing last night is any indication, he'll be saying something to you soon. You just wait a little bit, see what he comes up with. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and once he puts his mind to it, he won't stop unless he gets what he wants."

"And you think he wants me?" I confirmed, trying to push down the joy that was already overtaking the sadness, but failing miserably.

"Oh aye. Looks at you like you're holding his heart, he does."

"Do you _really _think so?" I went back around the table and sat on the other side again to see her better. "I mean _really?"_

"Ha!" Hilda crowed, clapping her hands. "Look at you – you're like a maiden in the stables! In a fever, you are!"

I covered my face and groaned. "I am… It's as clear as day, isn't it?"

Hilda grinned triumphantly and shrugged her shoulders. We laughed again and I shamelessly made Hilda do another imitation of Bard's singing, until Sigrid came walking out of the doors to the royal quarters.

"Morning you two," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I could hear you from my room!"

"A good thing, then," Hilda decided. "Time for you to get up anyhow."

"It's not me I'm thinking of! Da's completely befuddled. Had to close the curtains and everything!"

This sent us into fresh laughter, until Sigrid disappeared into the kitchen and came back with her breakfast and a tankard.

"Ale, Sigrid?" I asked, amused, as the Princess was not one for drinking in the mornings, even though it would have been heavily watered down.

"Not ale," she said, shaking her head with a revolted look. "It's a tonic. For Da."

I snorted and took the cup, putting my nose over it then gagging. "Valar, Sigrid, what is in this?"

Hilda shook with laughter and took a hearty sniff, nodding in approval. "Best remedy in Laketown, this is. It'll set him right in no time."

"It must taste _awful_," I winced and the other women nodded cheerfully.

"Serves him right! He hasn't been that tippled since the night of his coronation, when he was in his chambers and asking me how he was going to run a city when he had a hard enough time raising us." Sigrid took the tankard back.

"Oh… He didn't, he did so well with you all," I protested, spreading my hands when the two women rolled their eyes. "What?"

"Spoken like a woman in love. You're just short of making moon eyes!" Hilda pronounced, patting my hand.

"Oh!" Sigrid sat down with a thud and began to eat her porridge. "Speaking of love. Look what _I _found on Da's bedside table."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bundle of material. It looked like blue silk, the same colour as the cloth I used to cover my sweetmeats.

"What is that?" Hilda leaned forward and peered at it.

"Well, I've already had a look to tell the truth, but I think it's intended for someone at this table and it sure isn't you or me, Hilda," Sigrid grinned and I reached over and placed my hands protectively over the bundle.

"Don't tell me you stole it!"

"I did not," Sigrid protested. "He was so pleased with himself last night. When I finally got him into bed, he said, and I quote: 'won't be any confusion after this, Sigrid, my golden girl!'"

"Golden girl?" Hilda echoed with a cackle of laughter. "He hasn't called you that in years!"

"Go on," Hilda turned to me. "Have a look. That way if it's terrible, you'll have had time to get yourself looking pleased when he does give it to you."

"Hilda!" I grinned and wagged my finger. "No. I won't look." Though I was almost fainting with excitement to unwrap the little bundle and I found myself inching forward in my seat every few seconds. What could it be? That must have been why he had started whistling the day before. He had seemed awfully pleased with himself…

"Oh…" I trailed off. "Well, you've seen it, Sigrid?" I said and she nodded. "Tell me what it looks like, then," I compromised.

"We haven't got time for that, my girl," Hilda decided and grabbed the bundle of cloth, unfolding the soft material and then gasping at what she held in her hands.

"What! What is it?" I couldn't spare a thought for the abandoning of my morals, as I was too intrigued by the fond smile on Hilda's face.

"No, you're right," Hilda shook her head and folded it up again. "Best not to know."

"Why!" I cried and tried to grab the bundle but she held it aloft and Sigrid darted over to snatch it away from my prying hands.

"I'll just go and take this tonic to Da," she grinned impishly and I groaned again.

"Fine. If that's the way you want to play it, then do so. But at least put some honey in that tonic, that'd send me running to Rhûn if I had a sip of that."

"Oho," Hilda clapped her hands together. "Plenty of time for that. Soon you'll be a Laketown wife, Anne, and you'll be needing one yourself."

I covered my mouth, as if I might protect it in the years to come. "Oh no, no I won't."

"Remember my words then!" Hilda took the last spoonful of her porridge. "Say, my eldest girl is getting married at the beginning of spring. Why don't you come?"

"Oh!" I was disarmed by her show of kindness and grabbed her hands again. "Congratulations to all of you! I'd love to. Have you got someone doing the cakes and sweetmeats?"

Hilda looked thoughtful. "Well, I've got the cook onto it…"

I waved a hand in the air. "No, no. I'll do them myself, if you'll have me, as a wedding gift for your daughter."

Hilda smiled widely and we soon got to talking about the wedding that was to be held in the newly cleaned out hall in Laketown. Hilda's daughter, also named Sigrid, was marrying the son of the new Captain of the town's archers.

I sat back and let her words wash over me, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the appropriate moments as she described their simple courtship. But underneath my calm veneer, I was holding myself back from dancing around the hall as I wondered what gift Bard could have possibly gotten me, if he was so pleased about it.

* * *

The afternoon found me lying on my bed and reading a book. My stomach was fluttering but I was strangely calm – Hilda's words had stayed with me, and I was determined to keep myself busy instead of trying to analyse the direction of Bard's thoughts.

A knock on the door interrupted the story and I folded the page down to mark it, then walked to the door.

"I wasn't expecting you up for another day," I greeted Bard, laughing when he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.

He must have had a good, hot wash because he certainly didn't look like he'd spent half the night singing drunken songs with Percy. He looked as he always did – clean, his hair handsomely disheveled, dark clothes simple and warm.

"I take it you've heard, then," Bard replied and I laughed again.

"About you and Percy?" I asked and leaned against the doorframe, my arms folded over my chest in mock severity.

"Aye," he grinned wolfishly and raked a hand through his hair. "'Twas a good evening."

"Certainly seemed like it," I smiled and stepped aside. "Would you like to come in?"

"Ah, no," he admitted with an apologetic smile. "I promised Tilda I'd take her to the toy market, there was a new delivery from Erebor last week and she's been harping on about getting her hands on something new."

"Tilda wants a toy?" I questioned, as Tilda was young but to me at least she seemed long past the age of playing with toys. I'd seen Dwalin's creations myself and they were indeed beautiful, so perhaps I was wrong.

"She wants firecrackers, truth be told," Bard admitted with a grin and I shook my head with a smile.

"Oh she does, does she? I thought for a moment it might be you who'd be interested in those," I raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a lighthearted laugh from Bard.

"Well, I could think of worse things," he said and his smile faded for a moment, before he slowly held out his palm to me.

Puzzled, I placed my hand into it and watched as he turned my hand over, then reached into his pocket and drew out the small, blue bundle. He placed it into my palm and covered it with his fingers.

"For you," he smiled softly. "I thought you might like it."

I wanted to reply with something witty, something measured, or graceful. But I found I was staring at our hands, feeling so utterly happy, that all I could manage was a delighted smile as my cheeks flushed pink.

"Thank you," I whispered. "You didn't have to…"

"I wanted to," Bard said firmly. "I _want _to."

I exhaled and bit my lip, suddenly shy in the face of his affection.

"Thank you," I repeated.

I thought he might stay to see me open it, but he merely smiled again and removed his hands, though he gathered my free hand into his and flipped it over to place a kiss on my wrist.

"Would it be alright if I called on you again, Anne?" Bard now held both of my hands and under the weight of his gaze, I realized that this was his way of asking me something else entirely.

"It would be," I nodded with a timid smile that turned into one of pleasure when he let out a breath of relief. Relief, I thought, was the sweetest thing I had ever seen on a man's face.

"Well… Good," Bard pronounced and squeezed my hands, before he strode back down the corridor and disappeared from my sight.

I pressed my lips together and blushed so hot that I felt feverish. I shut the door and touched one finger to the smooth silk in my palm. I unraveled it slowly and carefully, treasuring the liquid like material. It was a small square, and inside it was something that made the breath rush out of me and forced me to sit on the bed, speechless.

It was a hair comb of silver, and fit perfectly in the middle of my palm. The teeth were fine, though curved slightly at the ends – unlike the sharp Gondorian combs, this seemed to be made for the comfort of the wearer. Me.

But it was not the teeth, nor the silver that my eyes stayed locked on, until I couldn't be sure how many hours had passed. It was the trio of small, intricate flowers above the teeth: pomegranate flowers, like the first tiny figure of sugar that he'd seen when he had learned that I was the one who was creating all of the little gifts for Tilda.

I looked at the comb for so long that in the night, I dreamed of beds of the small, red flowers, and two sets of hands, both stained pink from pomegranate seeds.

When I woke, I woke with a joy that knotted deep within my belly. It stayed with me all of the day, when I was grinding the sugar, rolling out sweet, cinnamon spiced dough, or even simply dusting powdered sugar over small individual squares of conserves.

And even when Sigrid burst into the room, I had such a look of pleasure that she immediately stopped and looked at my hair.

"You're not wearing it," she smiled gently and I shyly reached into my pocket and showed her the folded silk, where I had kept the comb all day, reaching in and out to look at it.

"It's too good for all of this," I waved a vague hand over my work and she shook her head.

"No, it's not too good. It's perfect for you."

I bowed my head and smoothed a pleased hand over my forehead. "It is, isn't it?" I said finally.

She made her way across the room and came to sit on a stool behind the bench. "I have news," she announced with her palms laid flat on the table.

"Oh?" I set down the rolling pin and sat beside her.

Wordlessly, Sigrid handed me a folded sheet of paper. I read through it quickly then placed it down on the bench between us.

"Are you ready?" I asked, moving to squeeze her arm when she took a deep breath in.

"I'm going to Da now."

"You'll tell me what he says?"

"Aye, as soon as he says it," she whispered.

I watched her stand and smooth down her skirt of light blue and reached out to touch a hand to her shoulder. "You'll be fine, Sigrid. You're a woman deeply loved."

She threw a smile at me from over her shoulder and squared her shoulders, before walking determinedly out of the room.

I sat on the stool and looked again at the comb. Perhaps I would need it soon after all.

For in the letter was a formal notice that in five days hence, the King of Erebor himself, his Crown Prince and the Lady of Erebor, Dís, would be making a private visit to Bard, King of Dale, about a personal matter of utmost importance.

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* * *

A/N - welcome to the new followers &amp; favourites!

As for the engagement/courtship traditions - I plucked them from my head. I used Zoroastrian traditions as inspiration for the East, old Bedouin traditions for Harad and the South.

I've also used Mundburg for Minas Tirith; the people of Dale are said to be most like those of Rohan, so I've used the word the Rohirrim use.


	16. Chapter 16

I love sugar. It sweetens, crisps, crunches, twists… Sugar can change anything. It can warm a cold heart; it can thaw even the frostiest of relationships.

And so, on the afternoon of the fifth day since I had read the letter that requested the meeting of the King of Erebor with Bard, I stood back and surveyed my workbench. It had taken me almost a full day to decide what to make; what to put on the table between the steaming cups of tea, or warm ales, or perhaps even glasses of the strongest Dorwinion wines, that would mark the distance between the two Kings.

At first, I thought to make conserves infused with lavender, to gently push the stubborn man and Dwarf to a state of calm. Then I changed my mind and made a tray of sweet fudges covered in rosewater, to soften their hearts.

But then, I remembered just the thing that would make the King of Erebor not only feel welcomed, but would also give Bard a blatant hint as to my own feelings about the union.

I looked at the glistening figure of the Lonely Mountain and clapped my hands with a smile that wouldn't have been astray on a woman that had just single handedly defeated a pack of Orcs with a ladle. I had placed the figure in the middle of the tray, and surrounded it with a bed of sugar flowers: pomegranate flowers, to be exact. With hands on my hips, I slowly ran my eyes over the figures, from the gleaming, shimmering petals, to the base of the Mountain, then to the intricately carved doors.

_Yes_, I thought with a grin. Perfect.

I opened the door and held it ajar with my foot, leaning over to the workbench to get a hold of the tray. I'd usually leave such work to the serving boys, but I had an ulterior motive and I was determined to at least get as far as the hall.

I stood at the doors to the main hall and pursed my lips. My two hands were busy holding the heavy tray, and no one was around to help me, until I heard a familiar, low voice laughing in the hall.

"Prince Kili!" I called out, hoping the door wouldn't muffle my voice too much. "Kili! Over here!"

The laughter stopped for a few torturous moments, until I heard heavy footsteps outside the door.

"Is there an enchantment on this door?" Kili's voice rumbled and I barely disguised my snort of laughter. "For I am sure that it just spoke to me."

"Kili, you rat! Open the door!" I hissed, stepping back when he pushed it wide open.

"Ah! The lady Anne herself," he winked. "What might you be doing so far from your rooms, especially at this particular time of day?"

"The same thing you are," I shot back, grinning when he bowed his head in confirmation.

"Say," I whispered deviously, "I need to take this tray to the guests of the King. Perhaps you wouldn't mind-"

"Oh!" Kili bowed again with a wolfish grin. "My lady, you do not need to ask! I _insist _that you allow me to escort you."

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" I asked as we walked over to the doors that led to the private royal quarters.

"Family business," he pronounced in a drawl. "And mother thought it best that I leave the sweet talking to my uncle. Apparently he has quite the speech planned."

"King Thorin has a speech?"

"You bet your honey skin he does. Now, tell me you've got somewhere we can go to listen?"

"Kili!" I scolded then bobbed my head as the guards opened the door. "What do you take me for? A scullery maid? Of course I have somewhere!"

We inched along the corridor, eyeing the last door to the right that held the royal study. I could hear low voices, but even Kili's larger ears couldn't pick out the words being said. A servant stood in front of the door and eyed my tray with a raised eyebrow.

"No," he said firmly. "You leave that with me, Anne. I'll take it in."

"But Erland!" I batted my lashes. "Surely they would wish to have it presented by the maker?"

"Not even your charms can persuade me today, lovely Anne," Erland grinned. "I've been told not to admit anyone who isn't the King of Erebor, the Crown Prince of Erebor, the Lady of Erebor or-"

"The Prince of Erebor!" my Dwarven friend tried in his best authoritative voice but Erland shook his head with a grimace.

"No, no other Prince was named, my lord."

"Bollocks," Kili huffed and I stepped on his toe.

"Is the Princess of Dale also within?" I asked innocently and he nodded.

"Never mind, then, Erland," I smiled sweetly and offered him the tray. "We'll be on our way, but at least let me open the door for you."

Erland narrowed his eyes but nodded his head all the same. Quite a handsome head, I mused, as he shot me a sly wink and flicked a stray brown hair away from his tanned face. It wasn't lost on me that it would have been a much easier road if I had fallen for a servant and not the King himself.

I handed the tray over and inclined my head to Kili, who rapped his knuckles on the door and stood to the far side of the entry so we wouldn't be seen.

Bard's low voice called out in response and Kili pushed the door open for the server. I leaned as closely as I could to the entry and grinned when I heard the King of Erebor speak.

"Ah," Thorin's smile could be heard in his voice. "What an absolutely wonderful depiction of the Mountain. Very suitable."

Bard stayed silent - no doubt one of his eyebrows was raised as he took in the suspicious arrangement of the figures.

"Oh!" Dís clapped her hands together. "How delightful! What a kind welcome you've shown us, King Bard."

"Oho," I whispered as I dragged Kili through the door beside the study while Erland was busy inside. "You were right: the King is very good."

Kili shut the door quietly and beamed as we ran over to the window and eased it open. The day was surprisingly fine for winter, save for some clouds in the distance, and as luck would have it the window to Bard's study had also been opened.

"He is," Kili grinned. "As are you, my lady!"

I put a finger to my lips and soon the both of us were kneeling at the open window, listening to the voices carrying through the air. I frowned and switched places with Kili, then felt my fingers dig into the wooden window ledge with barely restrained excitement.

"Such remarkable skill," I heard Dís murmur, and I could picture the Dwarrowdam leaning forward, her eyes narrowed as she looked over the figure of sugar.

"Yes, I believe our own cooks in Erebor are learning such techniques," Fili put in, his voice wavering slightly at the end.

"You can do better than that!" Kili hissed and I elbowed his side, gesturing furiously to the other open window and he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.

"My confectioner has said that her visit was productive," Bard commented in his low voice and I elbowed Kili again.

"_His _confectioner!" I whispered with glee. "Did you hear that?"

"Shh!" Kili waved a hand in the air and we froze when we heard Bard's next words.

"… But what is the purpose of this visit?"

"What did he say before that?" I asked, but Kili shrugged again.

I heard the wooden floor creak and Kili's head shot up, as he recognised the familiar sound of his brother clearing his throat.

"King Bard, I have come to petition for your daughter Sigrid's hand in marriage." Fili said firmly and I could hardly contain a squeal of happiness.

Kili said a few words in Khuzdul beside me, and we exchanged a giddy look, though it quickly turned into one of trepidation as the silence dragged on.

"What's going on?" I asked urgently, but Kili's face was the same as mine: a picture of total bafflement.

"I can't hear a thing," Kili complained and leaned as far out of the window as he could manage without being seen, then squeezed my hand.

"It's Fili! He's doing well," he grinned proudly.

"That's all well and good, but what is he _saying?_"

"Shh," Kili said again and then exhaled with a low whistle. "Uncle's stepped in. He's… He's talking about the relationship between the two cities, and how Erebor would be honoured to be led by a woman such as the Princess of Dale-"

"Oh!" I exclaimed and clapped my hands together. "Go on!"

"I was!" Kili grumbled. "Now I've missed everything else. Oh – oh, hang on a minute."

"_What!"_

"It's mother," Kili said, shaking his head in awe. "She's saying that she has been blessed by Mahal with the sons that she has, but that she would be an… immeasurably… fortunate mother to welcome Sigrid into her home as the wife of her son."

"What?" I hissed again as Kili shut his mouth and frowned.

"It's Bard," he replied. "He's saying that he's concerned that the two don't know each other well enough, and that the differences between our cultures would make it difficult for Sigrid to live on her own in Erebor."

I sighed, feeling utterly defeated, until Kili grabbed my hand again. "Fili!" He squeezed my hand so hard that I felt a bone crack. "Fili's saying that Sigrid's happiness would be his most important concern, and that he would treasure her above all else. No – that he _does _treasure her above all else."

"Oh," I smiled dreamily. "Perfect, just perfect. What did Bard say to that? And what did Sigrid say?"

"Sigrid hasn't said a word. Bard said-" Kili broke off and growled in Khuzdul, curses I presumed. "That perhaps Fili has not considered how Sigrid herself would feel about such a union, that she may have her own concerns."

"Valar, Kili – it's going to be the Battle of the Five Armies again, but we'll be three opponents short," I groaned and with the way Kili was grumbling, he must have agreed.

"Oh, Fili's standing again," he said.

This time I, too, craned my neck right out of the window, just in time to hear the heir to the throne of Erebor say firmly: "I would like to present my suit to the Princess of Dale in private, to hear her opinion."

Bard would have shook his head at that, conservative father that he was. I was proved correct when his voice lowered substantially. "I'm afraid that would not be suitable," Bard said and I covered my face with my hands, panicking, then my head snapped up.

"Right," I stood and smoothed down my skirt. "Kili, ready yourself. Give me a minute and I'll be back."

I wrenched open the door, ignoring Erland's snort of laughter and raced down the corridor. I ran across the main hall, through another door and finally reached the door to my workroom. I burst into the small room and debated for a moment over which tray to get - the lavender conserves, or the rosewater fudge - then threw caution to the wind and balanced one on my hip and the other on my head and turned on my heel and sprinted awkwardly back to Kili.

"Come on!" I sagged against the wall and slowed my breathing, then shoved one tray into his hands. Kili blanched white but to his credit, he drew himself up to his full height and strode to the door, ignoring Erland entirely, and knocked firmly. With inspiration that must have come from the Valar themselves, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Bard's comb, fastening it with one hand above the bun at the back of my neck.

"Enter," Bard called and I took in a deep breath when I heard the puzzled tone in his voice.

"For Fili," Kili whispered beside me.

"For Sigrid," I agreed with a nervous smile.

* * *

Kili opened the door for me and I stepped in, curtsying before I moved any further and so I did not see the look on Bard's face when we first entered. Kili bowed beside me and offered a greeting to Bard first, then to Sigrid, and the rest of his kin.

When I rose, my face was carefully assembled into a serene smile, and I extended the tray, noting the pale look of disappointment on Sigrid's face.

"I was asked to bring more refreshments, my lords and ladies," I bobbed again and smiled when Thorin rose with a wide grin.

"Ah, lady Anne. This is a most pleasant surprise," the King rumbled and held out his hand, prompting me to set the tray down and place my smaller hand within his grasp. When he bent his head to kiss my knuckles, I risked a quick glance at Bard, who was watching the exchange with a look of bewilderment that quickly became calculating when I turned my head as if to better see the arrangement of sugar figures, resulting in giving him a (completely intentional) glimpse of the comb.

Fili mirrored his uncle's greetings, and Lady Dís rose and kissed me on both cheeks. I had managed to perfect the greeting during my time in Erebor so that I was not bending obviously to receive her kiss, but rather combining a curtsy and a subtle lean.

"Yes, what a delight," Dís smiled slyly, as if she had guessed the reason behind our intrusion. Then she winked and I realized that of course she had guessed.

"Oh, Anne," Sigrid finally found her voice. "Perhaps you could show the Lady Dís how the Mountain comes apart."

"I would be thrilled." I grinned and picked up the slim knife on the side of the tray, then tapped it lightly at the tip of the figure. Like magic, the pieces broke apart leaving perfect, equal slices. I arranged each piece on the small plates on the table, and added a piece of conserve and fudge for good measure, then handed them to each guest, giving the last plate to Bard, who was studying me with a raised eyebrow and looking serious though his eyes were shining with amusement.

"Your Majesty," I handed him the plate, purposefully moving so my body shielded how I brushed my fingers against his.

"Thank you again, Anne," Thorin piped up from behind me. "Excellent timing," he added in a dry tone and Bard's eyes narrowed in response, but with my back to the rest of them I was safe to try another tactic and pursed my lips together with a stern frown, prompting Bard to arrange his features back into a calmer, slightly sheepish expression.

"It is nothing, my lord," I said politely as I turned and quickly squeezed Sigrid's shoulder.

I moved over to the door and curtsied to the group, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing when I saw how Kili had sat himself comfortably beside Sigrid with a challenging glance at his mother.

As soon as the door was closed, I walked slowly back to the main hall and waited. I drank a full cup of steaming tea, and then walked to the main doors at the end, then back to the front. I sat for a moment and recited a full verse of poetry in my head, then did the walk again, unable to stop tapping my fingers against my thighs impatiently. For the third time, I walked to the doors, then moved very slowly back towards the top of the hall, when I heard the doors to the royal chambers being opened.

I continued walking, and stopped as soon as Bard and Thorin, who were walking together in front of the group, noticed me. I felt my face stretch into a catlike grin at the way they were politely conversing, their laughter the clearest evidence that the sugar had done its job, though I quickly masked my satisfaction with an innocent smile.

"Oh, your majesties," I exclaimed, as if surprised. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

In a gesture that warmed me from my head to my toes, Bard extended a hand to me and smiled when I made my way over. Thorin's eyes gleamed when he noticed how Bard's hand stayed at my lower back and I barely restrained myself from poking out my tongue in a childish rejection of his uncanny ability to seemingly know my every thought.

"Say, brother of mine," Dís commented as she sidled up to us, looking beautiful in a rich red gown, cut in the Dwarven style with laces and ribbons at her chest. "The sky is looking very dark."

"Is it?" Thorin said seriously and moved to a window to check. "Yes, dear sister, it does look like a storm is approaching."

"It won't be for hours yet," Bard said flatly.

"Oh, are you sure?" Kili chimed in, joining his uncle at the window. "The clouds are moving ever so quickly."

Even Sigrid came to her senses and went to stand beside the Dwarven king. "Would you look at that!" she breathed, as if they were rolling clouds of wargs and not simple vessels for holding rain.

Fili stood to the side of the group, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his mouth twitching under his moustache. He said nothing, though I couldn't fail to miss how his expression became tender when he saw how Sigrid had enlisted in the cause.

"No one should be outside in such weather," I said pointedly, my skirts disguising how I stepped on Bard's toe, while simultaneously leaning into his body and letting my hip bone graze his side.

"No, it certainly seems that way doesn't it," he said dryly into my ear, then straightened up. "Of course, my guests should dine with us in the evening and stay, if it's not too much trouble for you to miss a night away from home."

As expected, all of the serious faces that were so concerned about the incoming storm changed into polite smiles, with the exception of Fili and Sigrid, both of them grinning from ear to ear.

"No trouble at all!" Thorin pronounced with a smirk. "No trouble at all."

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* * *

A/N

Thank you to the new followers, reviewers &amp; favourites. The night isn't over yet, my friends.

IntotheMoon44 – thank you!

Lystan – I just made some brownies to accompany this chapter.

Debatable-cerealkiller – thank you! I'm glad you're liking it.

Greaserslady – Welcome! I love that you have read it all already. I've considered doing a one-shot, possibly of their … wait, I don't want to give too much away. But yes, I have ;) I hope this chapter and the next tides you over until that happens.


	17. Chapter 17

The evening meal was an informal affair, as the late notice meant that the royal party from the Mountain ate as well as we did most nights, which was far more casually than a night in the Feasting Hall of Erebor.

The two kings sat opposite each other at the head of one of the long tables near the top of the hall, and the rest of the group inserted themselves along the tables wherever there was space. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Dwalin had accompanied Thorin, acting as the head of his guard, and I wedged myself in between the burly dwarf and Tilda, who was already engrossed in educating Kili with stories of scandals that had happened since the last time he was here. How she knew them all, I could not ever know, for somehow even the gossip of the washerwomen made its way to the table that night.

"How can you know such things?" I asked her, after she'd told the Prince of how the captains of both Percy's and Bard's guards had been found lying face down in the royal stables the morning after Yule and Hilda had had to throw buckets of ice cold water over their limp forms to wake them. Somehow I doubted that the woman Kili had dubbed the 'dragon' minded the task.

"I know many things," she retorted with a mysterious smile that made me shake my head in wonder and turn back to Dwalin, in case she decided to air her knowledge of whatever she knew about _me_.

"I did not know that you would be here," I said to Dwalin with an honest smile. "I wasn't aware that your warrior king needed a troop of guards to take him from one mountain peak to another."

Dwalin chuckled into his ale and I gaped when his cheeks coloured. "'Tis a formality, lass," he muttered, but I exhaled with a low whistle when I saw how his eyes darted over to Dís, who was staring resolutely into her glass of rich red wine.

"A formality?" I echoed with a knowing grin. I knew a 'formality' when I saw one.

"Aye," he grunted unhelpfully and stuffed a spoonful of fried fish into his mouth.

I shrugged my shoulders in response and turned to my own plate, tucking in to the roasted vegetables.

As the night wore on, the clouds slowly rolled closer, though still they did not break over the city and when another barrel of ale had been brought out and music called for, Bard made his way over and sat himself down in the seat that Tilda had just vacated in order to be whirled around the room by Kili.

"King Bard," Dwalin said gruffly and inclined his head, before he, too, left his seat in favour of joining the rest of Thorin's guard, who were laughing uproariously on the other side of the hall.

"You two are the most unlikely of acquaintances," Bard grinned, watching how Dwalin emptied a tankard into his mouth then slammed it, empty, onto the table to a roaring cheer.

"We share some common interests," I replied and Bard fixed me with a perplexed look.

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

We both love people who are the embodiment of stubbornness, I thought of saying, but settled for a demure smile. "Body art."

"Ah," he said with a sly grin. "Sometimes I forget what lies under this prim and proper package," he commented with a wave of his hand at my green dress and neat braids.

I raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of my wine. "Hmm," I said noncommittally, enjoying his good-natured laugh.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and looked around the room, taking in the way the dwarves and people of Dale were mixing, some drinking and singing together, and others engaged in games that could only be gambles based on the coins in the middle of their tables. Thorin and Dís were still at the top of the table, talking earnestly with Bain and a few of the younger soldiers in Dale's army, and Sigrid and Fili were (for once) innocently laughing at Tilda's antics with Kili.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" I raised my head and smiled.

"What is?" Bard brushed a hair away from my forehead.

"This!" I gestured vaguely over the hall. "Just a few short years and look what you have managed to achieve. Prosperity for Dale, a solid relationship with Erebor… It's amazing," I finished with a shake of my head.

And indeed it was. Where else would one find such a relationship between dwarves and men? Of course the close proximity between the two kingdoms was the main reason for it, but the other reason was sitting right beside me.

"How did you do it?" I asked bluntly.

Bard snorted with laughter. "Luck," he said dryly and took a swig of ale. "Luck, luck and more luck."

"No," I pressed. "It's more than that. Just _look._" I put my hand to his cheek and pushed his gaze away from me, towards where the rest of the people were talking, laughing and drinking.

"I think you're too kind," Bard grinned. "But I will indulge you," he added when I scowled.

"The first year was difficult," he began, his expression turning pensive. "I divided the gold the dwarves gave us. I gave some to Laketown, a fair amount to be honest. But there were some who thought they should've gotten more, although Percy soon put a stop to that sort of talk. Then almost everything in Dale had to be subsidized, as we came in the winter and didn't have a good harvest for another year after that. But the dwarves helped. They gave us the gold, but they came themselves, too. They helped us rebuild, helped Dale look like it is today."

"What about the Elves?" I asked curiously.

"Ah," Bard took another sip from his tankard. "Well, they came when the weather turned warm and helped to plant all around the lower lying fields. They brought seeds of trees from as far away as Dorwinion. Your own pomegranate trees are evidence of that," he said and touched the comb that I'd slid into place at the back of my hair when readying myself for dinner.

I smiled at the fond expression on his face as he took a gentle hold of my chin and turned my face so that he could look at the comb. "It all turned out rather well, don't you think?" he asked and let his hand settle at the back of my neck.

"Yes, a bit," I smirked but my mind was far away. Hearing Bard speak in such a way was exciting, but it was also nerve wracking for a woman whose work in life was to create sweetmeats. It was a good and honest trade, as good as the more well to do blacksmiths and head cooks, though it was vastly different from running a city. I sent a silent thanks to the old rulers of Dale, that they did not take on the Rohirric practice of having the Queen rule in the King's absence, for I think I would have run for the hills the moment Bard had shown me interest if that was the case. Dale was slightly less daunting – the wife and heir would make decisions together if need be, though usually the king's council would rule in his stead.

Bard soon kissed the top of my head and made his way over to speak with the rest of the people inside the hall. I smiled at the way he politely approached Fili and Sigrid, knowing how much it would have taken him to do it, though he only stayed to awkwardly greet the Crown Prince before he moved to sit with a group of soldiers, presumably to talk about the patrols that had been set up in conjunction with Erebor to keep an eye on the surrounding lands.

"May I sit here, my lady?" a low voice rumbled and I moved to stand, though Thorin waved a hand in the air. "No need," he grinned and sat down.

"Looks like it will be quite the storm," he said with a sly grin and I chortled then pressed my lips together.

"Oh aye," I grinned and reached for my wine.

"Say," Thorin leaned forward on the table, his elbows resting on the smooth wooden surface. "Are you planning to stay in Dale?"

I turned to him in surprise. "What?" I asked, forgetting politeness and took another sip of wine when he raised an eyebrow.

"Well…" I trailed off. Was I? It all depended on Bard, didn't it? Though I did not like to think of it that way. "I might do," I said evenly, not willing to admit that after all of my years of relative independence, I was judging my decision on where I lived based on what a man might do. "Why?"

"My sister thinks you would be a valuable addition to the kitchens of Erebor," Thorin admitted, and we both looked over to where Dís was smiling, her eyes shining innocently over her tankard of ale.

I linked my hands together, pleased at the compliment, even though I knew I was not interested in the slightest. "I am not an item to be added to a kitchen," I said with mock haughtiness. "This is my trade, and I have worked hard for it."

Thorin chuckled and somehow managed to smirk at the same time. Quite an interesting sight. "Of course, my lady. Who would understand better than dwarves? We all have crafts; we value what our hands produce. You'd have no better admirers than dwarves, let me tell you."

"I'm beginning to see how you persuaded Bard to carry you on his barge," I remarked wryly.

Thorin looked down at the table and his dark brows knitted together. "I did not persuade him," he said in a low voice. "I was not in favour of his assistance, though he helped us at great risk to himself."

"Oh?" I said, intrigued. Perhaps it was not my place to pry further, but Thorin narrowed his eyes and examined my expression, as if assessing my interest. What he found there must have convinced him that I was genuinely curious, for he sighed and spread his hands.

"Being without a home is difficult," he said, and his deep voice seemed to thicken, as if he was remembering something from lifetimes ago. He did not say more than that, though I wondered if he was reflecting on the harsh dwarf he had been, when he had been confronted with the endless piles of gold after the death of Smaug. But I was not one to judge what he had become – I for one knew that living with uncertainty and never really belonging could change a person. It had certainly changed me.

"It is difficult," I agreed softly, and accepted the newly filled tankard of ale that he held out to me.

"Now you will never accept my offer," he grinned. "You think me too dour."

I burst into laughter, feeling the warmth of the sweet wine and barely watered ale spreading through my stomach. "I would not have accepted it, my lord," I admitted with a grin. "Forgive me. But I am happy where I am."

"For now," Thorin amended, his mouth quirking into a quick smile and I raised my tankard to him.

"For now."

"No matter," Thorin said and looked around the hall. "Perhaps we will be graced with a different beauty from Dale instead."

I followed his gaze to where Fili and Sigrid had begun to dance. Really, I did not know how Bard could ever miss the love between the pair. Fili was handling her as carefully as he would a delicate item of gold, and Sigrid was listening to his every word as they talked in low voices during the dance. I turned in my seat and looked around for Bard, finding him with his back to the couple, deep in conversation with one of the traders from Dorwinion who had ridden in earlier that morning. He never stopped, I thought, and then I pondered on whether a wife would have the right to tear him away from his near constant work. Though soon Sigrid managed to put a distance of larger than a few hand widths between her and Fili, and she approached the pair with a reproachful frown. I turned back to Thorin.

"Perhaps you might be," I mused, watching his thoughtful gaze on Sigrid, who was now talking to the trader herself, having sent Bard back to the barrel of ale with Fili. It was a relief to see the two were talking with each other, and it was a testament to Fili's royal education that Bard was soon chuckling and clapping him on the shoulder as the Crown Prince skillfully manipulated the conversation away from awkward silence.

"I meant what I said," Thorin said, his voice barely louder than a whisper and I frowned. "I meant it," he repeated, "when I said that Erebor would be honoured to be led by such a woman."

I froze, and then masked my shock with a sip of the large tankard. "I do not remember you saying that," I mumbled, blatantly covering that Kili and I had heard him say those exact words when we were crouched by an open window that very morning.

"Oh. You don't? My mistake, then," he grinned and tipped his cup to me, before he rose and made his way back to Dís, leaving me wondering whether the eyes that could see into my soul could also see through walls.

* * *

The rolling, black storm clouds developed into one of the heaviest downpours I had ever seen since I had come to Dale. Rain lashed the royal house and forced its way through even the tiniest of cracks, and servants ran to place buckets under the windowsills to protect the wooden floors.

By that time, I had retreated to my workroom to stuff cloths on the ledge of my small window, then did the same in my bedroom. I eyed the black sky with trepidation, feeling a growing sense of unease as I tried to picture how my little home further down would survive during such an onslaught.

That was how Bard found me – standing in front of my bedroom window with my cloak around my shoulders as I deliberated whether or not to run down the hill.

"A bad idea, even for you," he said firmly and came to stand behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. The lightest of kisses brushed the top of my hair and I smiled but stayed facing the window.

"Besides, I think you owe it to me to stay after your little performance in my study, hm?"

I shrugged my shoulders innocently then squirmed when his mouth placed the ghost of a kiss on my neck.

"What performance," I managed to say, but he was already turning me in his arms, his mouth on mine before I could say anything else.

I wound my hands into his hair, pulling to bring him closer and closer, sighing into his mouth when he lifted me gently so I was sitting on the ledge. Not for one second did I notice that the surface I was sitting on was damp, for I was far too distracted by how his thigh was between my legs, his hands gripping onto my waist. His mouth was warm on mine, marking my mouth with heat. If the sky wasn't black outside, I would have protested as we were in clear view of the kitchen garden, but I responded all too eagerly when I realized that no one at all would be out in this terrible weather.

His hands moved from my waist to my neck, until one slipped beneath my collar and brushed over the bare skin at my back. I was so close to ordering him to bed that I began to mentally list off the ingredients for sugar syrup, just to avoid what felt like the inevitable.

_Sugar and water, _I began, as he tipped my head back and dove into the skin at the curve of my throat. I pulled his mouth back to mine and fumbled with the laces at his chest, tearing at them until I felt the bare skin of the nape of his neck.

_Lemon juice! _I remembered, and removed my hands from the black hair on his chest, wondering for a second at its softness when I had assumed it to be coarse. His head moved as he kissed me, the result of him shaking his head, and he grabbed my hand and placed it back on his chest.

_Water of orange blossoms… _even my inner voice trailed off as his mouth kissed the swell of breasts above my gown. _What comes after that? _It was the simplest of syrups and yet my mind was blank, utterly trained on his hand that had slipped under the skirt of my dress and was making its way ever higher towards my thigh. _Rose water! Rose water, rose water, rose water! _I chanted, moaning as warm hands cupped the skin behind my knees and the evidence of his arousal pressed firmly against my thigh through his trousers.

I was about to move onto the exact ratio of nuts needed for a pudding of ground rice when he let out a groan of frustration and tore his mouth from mine, his breathing erratic and coming out in hard, fast gasps. Mine wasn't much better and I pawed at the hands that still held my waist.

"Peace, peace," I begged, until he let out a breathy, strained laugh.

"Peace," I repeated. "Peace or I will go mad."

"You're mad already," he said in a low voice. "Mad for being so tempting. What on earth possessed you to come into my study, flaunting my gift in such a way?"

"Oh," I breathed, feeling around for the comb that was still clasped together at the back of my neck, though by now it was a little lopsided. I chuckled deviously. "It's quite a nice gift. I simply wished to try it on."

"Temptress," he named me with a wolfish grin. "And to think, I've been wondering why you haven't worn it yet. Turns out all you needed was a pack of dwarves and on it went. Should I be envious?"

"You should," I smiled as he ducked his head and gathered my hands up, kissing each finger.

"Or perhaps you should not…" I trailed off, distracted again when his mouth moved to my wrist.

"Wait, wait," I shook my head. "Where are your guests?"

"Ah yes, my _guests._" Bard raised an eyebrow and stood back, keeping our hands linked. "My guests are in their chambers. And to think – I almost let them leave! They would've been in Erebor hours ago, long before this storm."

I shrugged my shoulders and trailed a finger down his chest, enjoying the way he swore under his breath.

"Don't think I cannot see what you are doing," he said suddenly, and I flinched at the serious tone in his voice. "I have my reasons for objecting to the match."

The air felt heavier between us, as if the storm had managed to penetrate the walls and window and blast us with its pelting rain. I frowned and pressed my lips together, trying to decide whether or not to speak my mind, but Bard unwittingly made the decision for me.

"Besides, Sigrid wouldn't be happy-"

"How do you know!" I poked his chest, feeling that his heart was still pounding from our earlier kiss. It seemed a strange thing, that I should still feel the heat of his mouth, but now be having words with him instead. "She would be. Have you asked her?"

Bard folded his arms over his chest and scowled, like a boy not willing to admit he was the one guilty of eating all the sweets. I almost laughed, as he looked so much like Bain when he was defending himself from my well-founded accusations of theft but the humour left me at his next words.

"I do not need to ask her, she is my daughter."

"You do not need to ask her," I muttered to myself with a shake of my head. "That is folly." I said firmly, though perhaps not wisely as his face became as hard as stone.

"She is under my care, I am responsible for her-"

"She is a woman grown!" I cried. "She can make her own decisions. And why should she not? Are you not doing the same as her, by making happiness for yourself? No one can look at her and the Prince and not see that they are deserving of each other! Who on this earth would deny her such love?"

It was the wrong thing to say, for he moved away from me immediately and stood at the door, watching me as if he had bitten into me and found me sour.

"Perhaps you are mistaken, my _lady,_" he said bitterly. "My wife for one would see sense in this, for our daughter would be unhappy once the glow of attraction wears off, which it will once she realizes she is imprisoned in a jail of stone!"

I moved away from the window ledge and smoothed down my skirts, feeling shame worm its way through my body. And I deserved it. Shame on me for thinking he was ready to love me, shame on me for thinking he was healed enough in body and mind to open his heart again. Shame on me for losing myself so completely to a man who could not even work his way out of the clouds of sadness to see what his daughter wanted.

"I do not believe that," I said quietly, staring at the floor. "And I would never deny Sigrid the happiness that she would find, with a man who loves her above all else. If you were not so lost in your own grief, perhaps you would do the same."

He did not reply. When I looked up, he was staring at me as if I had hit him. Perhaps I should have restrained myself then, but I was so infuriated that I could not stop.

"Ask her for yourself," I continued. "Go on."

"Ask who? Sigrid or my dead wife?" he shot back, his voice laced with venom. "You speak of Inga's wishes and wants as if you knew her. You have no right."

I stared at Bard with my mouth wide open, until the hurt made me stagger back and grip onto the window ledge. I had no right? Who else had more of a right than me, the women who had heard sweet words from him, had felt his hands on her? Surely, then, I was entitled to an opinion? What was I, then, if he would kiss me one minute and scold me the next, as if I was nothing more than a child?

I felt anger rise up in my chest, but it dissipated almost immediately as I thought over my conversation with Thorin earlier in the evening. That home will always be home, that once you have left it, nothing will compare.

Bard's wife was his home.

I raised my head and looked at him, the man who had my heart within his hands. He was staring at me, though I could not tell at all what was running through his mind. He was frowning, his mouth turned down in a way that made me want to hold him to my chest and comfort him. But I could not – _I _was in need of comfort. _I _had bitten into him and found _him _sour. This was not a man who wished to love again, this was a man who wished to comfortably stay within his walls, venturing out only in a way that suited him. And I understood that; perhaps of all the women whose eyes followed him, whose hearts pounded because of him, I understood it the most – because it made me love him even more. But now I felt that my love for Bard had made me blind to what was right in front of me: what he had told me from the very beginning, when he had admitted that his grief was too near. I wished then that I had heeded his advice – that I had walked away from that very moment and saved myself this sickening feeling of rejection.

"Thank you, sire. Forgive me, but it is time for me to retire. Good night," I said and turned away from him, not bothering to curtsy or bow my head.

He did not move for a very long time, and neither did I, as I held onto a twisted hope that he might protest. When he did move, I saw him nod his head in the reflection of the mirror, the same way a man might when he has made a decision. And his decision was to leave.

The door closed with a quiet click and I hung my head. I leaned forward until my forehead was against the window, and watched the rain hit the glass, until I could not tell the difference between the streams running down the pane, and the smaller, though no less persistent, tracks of my tears.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

Eryndil commented a few chapters back that this is more of an adult romance, and I'd like to reaffirm that now. The usual recipe for romance stories is an obstacle right off the bat, but personally I find that coming towards love when you've been there already (and have children, to boot) can mean a hard fall at first, then a reality check when opinions clash later on.

Tinii25 – Thank you! Welcome – I'm glad! Laugh away ;) I see the hall of Dale as being quite similar to Meduseld in Rohan, so dinner is usually a group affair.

Lystan – Bitter, high percentage dark chocolate this time, I'm afraid.

Greaserslady – Two things for you; I've taken a while with this particular one as I've taken your suggestion to heart and am writing a little companion piece for Fili and Sigrid. Not sure when I'll pop it up, as it'll follow events in this story, but it's on its way. And the second: a thunk on the head from Anne's wooden spoon for you for jinxing Anne's good luck with all of her scheming thus far.

Eryndil – Ha! Wonderful. I bet you look as funny as I do when I read the lines aloud, facial expressions and all.

Kaia – thank you!

Debatable-cerealkiller – Don't be sorry, I love that you say it. Keep saying it.

Kimmy – thanks!


	18. Chapter 18

In the court of Morwen of Lossarnach and Prince Thengel of Rohan, there was a guard by the name of Léofa. He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark golden hair that fell past his shoulders. His eyes were as dark as mine, but his skin was only slightly tanned – when he held my hand, I could see the fairness of his arm from where the sleeve of his tunic would ride up.

"What do you think about this, little bird?" he would say in the mornings when I had to walk past him to reach the kitchen. He would hold out a rose for me, or a little wooden carving.

"Little bird?" I would never fail to rise to his challenge.

"The winds of the Riddermark would blow you right over," he'd say in return, having no shame about letting his eyes travel over my figure.

One morning he opened his mouth to ask his usual question, but I shyly stood on my toes and kissed his lips. I was a different woman then – more reserved, but prone to episodes where I would feel such a rise of courage that I couldn't stop myself from acting.

"What do you think about this then, Anne?" he whispered after he had gathered me up and returned the kiss until I was sure my lips would be bruised.

The weeks wore on, deliciously so, until I received word that my mother had fallen ill. It felt as if the earth moved underneath me. Not even Léofa's arms could anchor me.

"Stay," he said firmly, and grabbed onto my shoulders. "Stay. I'll leave this place if you want, I'll take you back to the Mark. Be my wife."

I wanted to, more than anything. "I cannot," I said through tears. "If you would wait for me…"

Léofa kicked his toe against the stone wall. We were standing in the small garden just outside the kitchen.

"I'll come and get you," he vowed. "I'll find a way, and I will come and get you."

I thought he would. I truly did. I stayed in Dorwinion for months longer than I might have otherwise, until it had been two years since I had last seen his face. On the day that marked those two years, I left for Dale.

So, perhaps one might say that by that point, I had become a woman that was not afraid to express myself, and I was certainly not a woman who was going to wait by the side of the road for any man, King or Rider.

* * *

The royal party left for Erebor at dawn the following morning. Later I heard from Sigrid that Fili had dared to kiss her cheek in the shadows of the stables, though even that was not enough to warm my heart that day.

I had been so happy since meeting Bard that I had not thought of what may happen if he threw me off one day. Not that he had thrown me off… not exactly, anyway. Or had he? I didn't know. I awoke with a knot in my stomach that for once, was not desire, but trepidation. Cold, hard trepidation. The knot did not improve throughout the day. It seemed to coil and uncoil, over and over again, as I bent over pots of sugar syrup and mixes of butter and browned sugar. I found myself wishing for the days before I had met the King; when I was just Anne, friends with Sigrid, companion to Tilda, thief catcher to Bain. Not Anne who dared to aim too high.

The days wore on like that, until it had been a week since I had seen Bard. Then one morning, Sigrid came knocking on my door with a face of stone, her lips pressed together and a look in her eyes that made me want to reach for my ladle.

"Sigrid?"

"What did you say to Da?"

Oho. What did _I _say? I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Sigrid had chosen this moment to become more verbally gifted than I had ever seen her. She stormed into my little kitchen, her fists balled, and whirled around to face me.

"You _do! _I am sure of it. Da is as grumpy as a horse's ass-"

"Sigrid!"

"_What!"_

"Don't you 'horse's ass' me!"

"Well who else would send him into such a bloody brooding mood?"

"Mind your bloody tongue!"

"You can bloody well mind your own bloody tongue!"

I blinked. "Truce?"

Sigrid scowled and shifted on her feet, the movement so like my own that I snorted then clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to appear serious.

"Truce?" I asked again, though I still backed away from her and reached behind me for the ladle. She was a vision when angry, but not one that I was willing to risk. "It's not what you think, anyway," I muttered, feeling safer with the ladle in my hand.

"What _do _I think?" Sigrid put her hands on her hips.

"'What did you say', 'who else would send him into such a mood'," I quoted. "You think I am at fault, do you not?"

She nodded, still scowling.

"Well…" I turned and walked around the bench and plopped onto one of the stools. "I am, a bit. But so is Bard!"

I'd been analysing our conversation for the last week, constantly going over our words in my mind. And that was the conclusion I'd come to: yes, I was brutally honest, to the point where if Bard were a woman, he would have been quite right to serve me a slap on the cheek. But Bard himself was being a pig-headed fool about it all. I could understand where his thoughts were coming from – perhaps he couldn't bear to lose control, perhaps he was simply too caught up in his own world that he couldn't quite see the forest through the trees. But that didn't mean that he should start forbidding Sigrid her most basic desire; to be loved. The world we lived in meant that unfortunately such actions were not uncommon, but it was so against Bard's own personal set of morals that it got me incensed all over again, and I had to count back from ten in my Eastern tongue to steady my heartbeat.

My words seemed to placate Sigrid somewhat, as she fixed me a glare then sat herself down beside me. She grabbed a biscuit and began to munch on it, and only when she was finished did she open her mouth to speak.

"So you're both at fault."

"Aye," I shrugged. Him more than I, I added silently.

"And have you spoken to him?"

At that I turned to her fully and raised an eyebrow. "When your Da doesn't want to be found, he won't be found."

Truer words had never been spoken! I'd scoured the hall for him for the first three days, then given up once I realized that if he was going to come to me, then he would do it in time. It was with this in mind that I was able to get on with things; no more waiting, I reminded myself gently.

"Don't I know it," Sigrid said, giving me the impression that she'd tried all week to have this very conversation with him, but hadn't been able to pin him down. Then her severe expression softened and she shot me a knowing look.

"You've never called him 'Da' before."

"Well he's not my Da, is he?" I rumbled, probably looking a lot like Dwalin.

"You know what I mean," Sigrid threw back, completely unfazed by my rudeness.

I made a rough sounding noise in the back of my throat, not willing to admit to the fact that I quite _liked _being able to call him that. It felt like I had somewhere to belong, almost like I could close my eyes and pretend that his children were half mine, too. Not Sigrid, though. No, she was too wild. Valar, where on earth had she been hiding that temper?

"You're both as bad as each other," Sigrid decided. "Stubborn as mules."

"Oh!" I growled. "Speak for yourself! I'll have you know that I was being 'stubborn' for _you!_"

That shut her up. I filed the comment away, in case I should need it again. Quite useful, that.

"What happened?" Sigrid asked and bit her lip. I tapped on the bench while I wondered what exactly I should tell her, then elected to just say everything. After all, if she were not Bard's daughter, I would have knocked down her door with my foot right after the argument with a bottle of wine in each hand.

"It was about you and Fili," I admitted with an apologetic shrug. "He… He thinks your mother wouldn't have approved, so he doesn't either." That was the short of it, but I wasn't going to repeat his ridiculous comment about Erebor being a 'jail of stone'. Besides, Sigrid knew his feelings about the Mountain already.

"That's nothing new to me," she sighed and cupped her hands together, then mournfully dropped her chin onto them. "What did you say to that?"

"Oh…" I trailed off. My words had hurt Bard, and the last thing I wanted was to hurt Sigrid. But she frowned again and I rolled my eyes. "I said that there was no one on this earth that could ever deny the love between you both, and that it was folly for him to think he could make such a decision for you."

Sigrid took on a contemplative expression and bit into another biscuit. "That's not all, though, is it? I've said that to Da myself, in different words."

"You haven't," I said bluntly. "Tell me now that you've told him that you love Fili, and I'll run through the hall as bare as the day I was born."

Sigrid's eyes bulged and her face went purple. I whacked her on the back and was rewarded with a howl of laughter, until I myself let out a small giggle.

"I did tell him." Sigrid said, so seriously that I felt my face drain until I must have been as white as a sheet. "Oh, I didn't!" she cried and this time it was I that howled first, with good humour and not a small amount of relief.

"If you _must_ know," I began, with a pointed look to my friend, "I said that I disagreed that your mother would have such feelings about it all. Then I said he should ask you directly, but he said: 'ask Sigrid or my dead wife'."

I said the last part with a hand over my eyes like a coward, until Sigrid's silence made me split my fingers apart to check her reaction. Like when she had first walked into my room, she was fuming. I thought steam might start coming out of her ears when she began to snarl some of the foulest curses I had ever heard, which was quite a feat considering most of the Rohirrim I had met were incredibly talented in such a field.

"Sigrid?" I said timidly as she jumped off the stool, sending it flying. "Sigrid?"

"I'll have his head!" Sigrid snarled, and wrenched open the door so hard that the old thing began to shut entirely on its own in her wake.

I caught a glimpse of Torwald the cook waiting in the corridor. "My Lady, if you please-"

"Not. _Now!" _Sigrid bellowed and stomped past him.

"That went well," I said dryly to myself. If Bard and I ever managed to patch things up, I would need to remember to avoid getting on Sigrid's bad side. If ever there was a wolf in sheep's clothing, I had just met her.

* * *

I took myself out of the hall soon after Sigrid left. I didn't think Bard was a man for yelling, but with the way his eldest was on the war path, perhaps he'd shared that trait with her. Regardless, I was in no mood to find out which parent Sigrid shared her passionate anger with.

I decided to stroll down to the nearest patch of water I could find. Never mind that it was the end of winter and it wouldn't be warm enough to swim for another month or two yet. I didn't dare go as far as the Long Lake, not without a horse, but I walked far enough from the walls to only just be visible.

I spread my cloak down on the ground and sat down in the middle of a grove of trees, scooting backwards until I was leaning against a sturdy trunk. The breath still ghosted in front of me in the chill of the afternoon, but the sun was shining and its warmth was slowing heating my face. Absentmindedly, I picked up some stones and began to throw them into the small body of water in the middle of the grove.

From my position, I could see a portion of the routes between the three cities. Even on a winter's afternoon, groups were trudging up the hill towards Dale from Laketown, and even a few dwarves were making their way back down. If I squinted, I fancied I could even see boats going further east on the Lake, which they would follow all the way until it met the inland sea. The boatmen would moor off the shores of Dorwinion, walk along the pebbled shore and then make their way inland, until vineyards stretched further than their eyes could see, and they would drink and be merry all through the nights until it became time to make the journey back again. Even the wine served to those who were not at the Lord's table was sweeter and finer than could be found anywhere else, even the vineyards further south of Gondor.

And the people! I tipped my head back until I could feel the sun warming my closed eyelids. How I missed the people. There were some that wouldn't socialize with anyone who had Eastern blood, but Dorwinion was so close to Rhûn that the vast majority of people did not care one bit about those of us that were just a little bit darker than the rest. Our traditions merged fluidly over the years, until Eastern songs were sung in taverns, and our weddings were filled to the brim with people dancing as they do in Rhûn; loudly, smoothly, happily. It was normal now to see women with their body art complete, snaking around their arms and chests, visible at the sleeves of their gowns, unlike my own that had stopped when my mother passed before I managed to achieve any other life goals.

I was homesick, that much I knew. It hit me hard and unexpectedly, until I drew my knees to my chest and rested my forehead against my thighs, trying to breath in deeply to fight off tears. When I had surrendered and let a few stubborn ones fall, I leaned back against the tree again and closed my eyes.

I dreamt of water, wine and olive groves. Of vineyards, dancing and gentle waves slapping on the shores. I dreamt of home. At some point, I must have begun to cry again for I felt the splashes on my cheeks even while asleep.

How long I spent asleep, I could not say, but I was so comfortable and warm that when I stirred, I burrowed back into the warm blanket, not quite realizing that I had not had a blanket on to begin with. It smelled like Bard, like the forest and the water. I sighed and tried to push myself back to sleep, annoyed at my mind that was conjuring up all sorts of things to soothe itself.

"She wakes," a low voice said softly and I yelped and curled up defensively before I noticed that the blanket I had on was not a blanket – it was Bard's old coat and he himself was sitting in an exact mirror of my position, legs out and back against a tree opposite me. A small fire was crackling away not far from us, with a tiny pot of something bubbling on top of it.

"What-" I began, pausing when I looked up and saw the moon in the sky. A quick glance at the city showed the lamps lit, and torches burning near the gates.

"Yes, it's rather late," Bard said dryly, though there was a fond smile curving at his mouth.

"I was warm," I explained my slumber with a shrug, then leaned forward and stuck my arms through his coat and pulled the collar up until it covered my ears. It would have been a comical sight, but Bard had a strange expression on his face as he took in the look of me wearing his jacket. I had a horrible thought, then, that perhaps his wife had worn it once and I shrugged it off and folded it over my lap instead.

"Why did you take it off? It's cold," he said.

"I thought that…" I trailed off, not willing to tell him what I'd been thinking. "I'm warm enough," I said instead.

He continued to watch me, and I began to feel even more unsettled. "What have you got there?" I asked with a wave of my hand towards the fire.

"A stew," he said with a grin. "It's terrible, to be honest, but I thought you might be hungry."

I smiled and felt the slow heat of a blush warm my cheeks. "You didn't have to do that. We're not far from the city."

"Far enough," he frowned and shook his head. "What were you even doing out here? It's not safe at night."

"I did not mean to inconvenience you. You are free to go back to wherever you were hiding," I retorted, with not a small edge of frustration in my voice.

"I came to look for you!" Bard protested. "You weren't in your kitchen all afternoon, and you still weren't back at nightfall."

"Well then," I huffed and crossed my arms. "I've been easier to find than you this whole week!"

Bard closed his mouth firmly and ran a hand through his hair. "Regardless," he said with a scowl, "do not do such a thing again."

"I will do as I please!" I hissed, with all of the rage that I'd felt over the last week pouring out. "I do not belong to you. You are not my father, nor my husband – you have no command over me!"

"I am the King," he shot back and sat up, planting his hands flat on the ground. "Does that count for nothing?"

"It is nothing to me!" I cried. "Nothing at all. Better you were a farmer with a field of hops, at least then I would be on equal footing."

"You are on equal footing! Have I ever treated you as anything less than my equal?" Bard turned away from me and swore under his breath, giving me the impression that perhaps Sigrid had inherited her temper from him after all.

"Equal in station, perhaps, but not an equal in your heart," I said coldly, and at that he rose and opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally he sat down again.

"I went to Erebor," he admitted. "To speak with the Crown Prince."

I gasped and crawled over until we were sitting closer to each other. I offered him a quick smile when he touched my hand, the first time he had touched me in a week.

"Why?" I asked abruptly.

"Because you were right," he said simply. "I was being a stubborn fool. Sigrid has been my own girl for over ten years – I have done my best with her, but I'm no mother, I can't look past my own ideas about what I want for her."

"Yes you are," I said firmly. "A mother and a father, to all three of them. They all know it."

Bard exhaled and reached forward to gather up my hands. "I told Fili that if he wished to present his suit to Sigrid, then he may do so. She is to have the final decision. But-" he said with a pointed look at the way my hands had left his, about to clap with joy, and I stilled. "Sigrid has seen nothing of the world, apart from Laketown and Dale. She has not had a carefree life. She may accept Fili's suit if she wishes, but I have asked her that she meet with the other suitors who wish for her hand. I want her to be sure, I want her to know without a doubt that Fili is the one she wishes to marry."

I let out a long breath and smiled, the first real smile I'd had all week. He had made a wonderful decision, and I was relieved beyond measure to see that the man I had lost my heart to was still as honourable as he ever was.

"Good," I said bluntly. "Now, what about me?"

Bard's head snapped up and his lip curled, something I had begun to pin down as being a gesture of confusion. "What about you?"

I stood up and walked back to the other tree, waiting until he too rose to his feet. He made to come closer but I held out a hand and he stopped.

"Tell me what you wish to do about me."

He bent his head and scuffed the grass with the toe of his boot. "I do not know what-"

"You do," I said quietly and summoned all of the strength I had mustered over the week, since I had become determined that I would ask the question. "I would like to know if you wish to declare for me."

At my words, he raised his dark head and stared, his brown eyes boring into mine. I nervously linked my hands together, so I would not wring them, and waited.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

Thank you to all who have joined us, reviewed, followed, etc. I've started up a small story on the side of this, called "Letters to Sigrid". The first chapter is up, detailing Sigrid's first meeting with Fili, and I'm about to post the second, which is how Anne first came into their lives. Forgive me for the cliffhanger, but as I have rarely done one with this story, I thought I could let one loose on you all.

Re canon: I have Anne leaving Minas Tirith in 2942, but Thengel and Morwen were married in 2943. For the sake of that, let's push that wedding forward a year or two. Also – relations between Thengel and the Mark were not as this story suggests – I doubt he would have had Rohirric guards at this point, but for the sake of this story, let's say that he might have had a couple.

Léofa means 'beloved'. Bard means 'battle axe', in case that distinguishes the two men.

Mont Girl of Lumatere – thank you! I have aimed for that, so it is great to see that you feel the same way about it.

Hannew – Thank you! As for Erebor; going by this end of this chapter, Anne is much more stubborn than she might look. Erebor is not for this particular woman of Dale.

Debatable-cerealkiller – I might just print out every one of your comments.

Lystan – That it is! Bit of chilli chocolate for you this time. And of course to Dis and Dwalin, my friend!

VirgCoup – Thank you very, very much. And… me too re Thorin. It wasn't, but yes, me too.

Eryndil – He is. And far out, that would be a formidable team to be up against hahaha.

Kaia – Let's see how they go ;)

Jojo – Hmm. ^^ ;)

Wolf – Done and done, for you!


	19. Chapter 19

"Sigrid! _Sigrid!" _

I narrowed my eyes and judged the distance, then threw a tiny pebble up at the window a few feet above my head, stepping back when a head of light brown hair appeared.

"Valar on a cracker, Anne! What? It's too late for whatever it is that you wa- is that wine?"

"Aye," I grinned up at her head that was stuck out of the window. "Are you coming down?"

"What wine is it?"

"Dorwinion." I held the bottle up, not that she would be able to see it in the darkness of the night, but she squinted all the same.

"Lord's table or alehouse?" she asked next.

I grumbled under my breath, regretting that I had ever taught her the difference. "Captain's table."

"In between, then?"

"Aye."

"Ha, alright! I would've come for the alehouse one, you know!"

"Oh, I know!" I grinned. "It's an occasion. Stables?"

"Aye!" Sigrid called, having already disappeared to pull on a dress and cloak over her nightgown.

I made my way back down the garden path, weaving through the rose bushes and trees that were almost all covered with creeping vines of jasmine. I made a point to stop and rip off a few of the limbs of the vines, then continued along the stone path, pausing every now and then to take a long smell of the heady scent. The gate of the garden was still open, so I held the wine and flowers at the level of my chest and eased my way through the gap, then pushed it shut with my foot, before skipping across the open space between the royal house and the stables that were situated a few feet further down the hill.

"You're in a good mood," Sigrid commented, already standing at the doors. She was holding a lamp and had a few blankets tucked under the other arm.

"You're prepared," I shot back with a wink.

We backed against the doors to push them open, then walked along the stalls until we came to the last. It was reserved for guests of the King, and given that most visitors that arrived were only from the nearby cities, it was usually empty and clean. Sigrid dropped the bundle of blankets down, then smoothed them out on the hay, before she sat herself down with a thud.

I sat down beside her and smirked as I held up the jasmine. "For you, lovely princess!"

Sigrid chortled and took both the jasmine and the wine, then eyed it with a raised eyebrow. "You've already started."

I looked at it, noting that it was already down by a quarter. "Yes, it seems that I have, haven't I? I've an important question for you."

"Hang on, then," Sigrid waved her hand and took a sip. "Right, go on."

"Valar on a cracker? What's a cracker?"

Sigrid screwed her face up, a look that I had seen on Tilda countless times. "A plain biscuit. No sugar at all. You'd hate it."

"Oh," I shivered in revulsion. "No sugar. Sounds gha… gha… gastle? No. Ghattle."

"Ghastly?" Sigrid offered helpfully.

"That's the one."

We leant back against the wall and heaved a collective sigh, then continued the dance of passing the sweet, fresh wine. I had lost count of the amount of times that I had found myself in this situation with Sigrid – she could not go down to a tavern without being spoken to constantly, so we often resorted to the stables, or occasionally the fields around the lake on summer afternoons.

"Anne?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we doing in the stables?"

"We have something to celebrate, do we not?" I elbowed her in the ribs. "I heard you are to entertain the suits of… your suitors."

"Ha! Da told you that? He's been to see you?"

"You first, me later," I ordered my royal employer with a smirk.

Sigrid giggled, having already caught up with my own intake of wine. She sighed and looked up at the roof with a fond smile on her face.

"Da did well," she admitted and shot me a shy grin. "He went to see Fili himself. Told him I have the last word, and that if he wishes to marry me, then he'd better start his courtship before anyone else does."

"Oh, Bard!" I set the bottle down and clapped my hands together. "Perfect! Very fatherly. Anything else?"

"Aye. Said if Fili hurt me then he'd drag him to the lake by his ear and shove him in his old barge and cast him off without a second look, dwarf prince or no."

"No, he didn't! Ha!"

"He did! Say, Anne, is that Birna?"

"Birna? The one that was rude to Tilda in the market? Erm…"

Sigrid and I squinted at the chestnut head that had appeared over the side of the stall. There was some resemblance, although this new face had a much kinder look…

"It's Edelind, you twit! Sorry lovely Edelind," I cooed at the mare, who stared at us blankly then shook her head with a snort.

"Are you sure? The copper hair looks so familiar…"

"It's chestnut," I replied bluntly. "Anyhow, now that you have confused a horse with a very evil girl, I would like your opinion on something."

"Valar on a cracker?"

"No…"

"Good, because I have a feeling that I have explained that already. Or perhaps it was to Tilda…"

"Never mind. Sigrid, has Bard been courting me?"

Sigrid was silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her set the bottle of wine down and turn to face me.

"Do you think he has been?" she asked frankly.

"Not particularly. But_ he_ thinks he has been."

"Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, the both of you," Sigrid muttered and poked me in the chest. "If you hurt him, _I _will take you down to the barge and cast _you _off."

I winced and drew my cloak closer around me. "I do not like the sound of this barge."

"You wouldn't," she shot back cheerfully, then took a hold of one of my hands. "Da's a man of actions, not words. Valar save me, I've wanted to clock him one plenty of times because of it. But I think you know that by now."

"Aye, I do," I nodded and felt a little gurgle of delighted laughter escape.

"He came to see you?"

"Aye. What did you say to him?" I asked curiously. I had already written myself a little note to remind me to ask her to teach me all of the new curses, in case they might be useful one day, but I wondered what it had taken for Bard to go looking for me in the first place.

Sigrid sighed and took a short sip of wine. "Perhaps it should stay between me and Da…"

"Don't, then," I smiled and patted her arm. "I don't need to know. It worked out well enough, anyway."

Sigrid groaned and covered her eyes. "I don't want to know, I don't want to know," she chanted, then moved one finger and peeked at me. "I do want to know."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, remembering the sweet words that by now felt as if they had been etched into my skin with a feather.

"He thinks I'm his woman," I said, my chest bursting with pride.

Sigrid let out a hoot of laughter and shook her head with a wide grin. "And are you? His woman?"

"Well, I'll have to be, as it seems he's very much mine," I countered and ducked the hand that had darted out to cuff the back of my head. Laughing, I leaned my head on her shoulder.

"Are you betrothed, then?" Sigrid whispered, and I noticed that the hand that was still over my own was cold and trembling.

"No," I said slowly and tucked my cloak over her hand. Perhaps we might be, in time, but there would be a moment to talk about that with Sigrid, Bain and Tilda before anything was decided, and it wasn't now. "And you would tell me, wouldn't you? If you weren't alright with… everything?"

"I would," she sighed. "I'm happy, I'm satisfied. I'm this far off from jumping out of my skin," she said and showed me her thumb and forefinger just slightly apart. "But it is a bittersweet satisfaction."

"It would be," I agreed quietly and nodded, then grinned impishly as I thought of just what to say to make her smile again.

"Would you feel better if I told you that I made quite the fool out of myself? That there's not a guard in Dale who doesn't know how my backside looks when slung over a man's shoulder?"

Sigrid choked on a laugh, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "He didn't!" she gasped and I felt tears of laughter welling in my eyes as I nodded and bent over, wracked with silent laughter.

"No!" she cried and clapped her hands together, laughing until we had to cling onto each other for balance.

"He did. If he does not ask me to be his wife at some point, Sigrid, then I am ruined for anyone else," I said and wiped my eyes, then put my head back on her shoulder.

"I asked him if he was planning to declare for me," I confessed and her shoulder moved with her gasp.

"You didn't! Blimey. What did he say to that?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Anne!" Sigrid whacked my thigh. "You can't tell me that you asked him that, then not tell me what he said!"

"No!" I took a quick sip. "That's what _he_ said!" I lowered my voice, attempting to sound like Bard's rumbling answer earlier that evening. "'I'm not answering that!'" I quoted.

"He said _that?!_" Sigrid took a large gulp. "I'll bring Hilda up to serve him one. He won't be able to sit for a week. Why are you even laughing?"

"I'll tell you everything. Well, an edited account," I added with tact that I didn't know I would have after wine. "Wait, just let me have a bit more."

* * *

"You are an _impossible _woman!"

I stared, mouth hanging wide open, as Bard stormed around where we had been sitting. He tipped out the stew over the fire, then filled the pot with more water and extinguished the rest of the flames. The hissing sound of the dying flames was punctured by curses that rivaled the talent of his daughter.

"I beg your _pardon?!_" I screeched, the sound so unpleasant that Bard covered his ears.

"Impossible! Stubborn as a mule!" Bard grabbed his old coat off the ground and shook it, then crammed it onto my shoulders.

"It's cold - wear the coat!" he ordered as I began to take it off again.

"No!" I stomped my foot on the ground and crossed my arms over my chest, scowling when I noticed that he had to cover his mouth to hide a laugh at my theatrical behaviour.

"Wear it or I'll put you over my shoulder and haul you up to the city myself."

"You will not! I'm not wearing it. And I can walk myself up there!"

"I'm giving you one more chance. Wear the coat, or I'll pick you up."

I glared and ground my teeth together, the effect somewhat lessened from my shivering. "I. Will. Not. Wear. Th- Ah! What are you doing!"

Bard had interrupted my raving and in one movement, I was swept up and plonked on his shoulder. A second later, the coat was shoved over me and he huffed and began the long walk up the hill.

"Brute!" I snarled and beat my fists against him, then stopped when I realized the only part of him I could reach was his backside. He patted my own in response and gave a bark of laughter when I tried to swivel around to hit my fist against his side.

"Why didn't you want to wear the coat?" he asked, far too cheerfully for a man that was holding a twisting and swearing woman over his shoulder. "And for Valar's sake, stop bloody moving!"

"Put me down, then!"

"Why didn't you want to wear the coat?"

I growled and pinched his side. "You looked at me strangely!"

He stopped abruptly, causing my face to collide with his lower back.

"Brute," I repeated, the word muffled by his thick tunics.

"Strangely? Ha!" Bard began to walk again. "A man finds the sight of his woman in his coat so desirable that he wishes to bed her, and that is called strange?"

"You… you…" I trailed off, and tried to turn around again, then pummeled my fists against his rear. "You could've said something! And I'm not _your _woman!"

"Oh, yes you are." Bard patted my backside again. "And you're as thick as a horse's arse to think you're not."

"Bard!" I screeched again. "What is the relationship betweenyour family and horse's arses?!"

"It's a suitable description," he answered, completely unperturbed.

"Well," I countered with a thump to back of his thigh, though he didn't even slow his fast, decisive strides. "Are you _mine? _Or am I just to be yours and have nothing in return? I made sheep eyes at you for three months after I arrived, and all of a sudden it's now that you're deciding that I'm yours?"

"I should like to see those sheep eyes," he said hopefully, then laughed out loud when I let loose with a slew of Eastern insults.

"Besides," he continued, "whose would I be if not yours?"

As soon as I thought over his words, my mouth snapped shut. "I…" I mumbled, then closed my mouth. "Right then," I managed with a little laugh, then the bubbling warmth inside my stomach betrayed me and I clapped my hands with giddiness.

Bard's hand gave my thighs a squeeze and his chest moved up and down as he took a deep breath in.

"What do you think I've been doing all of these months?"

"Kissing me, then buggering off!" I yelled, feeling my indignation swiftly return, and thumped him again for good measure.

"I have n-" he cut himself off, then I felt his head move against my legs as he nodded once. "Yes, alright. That's fair. But in between all of that, I haven't been sitting idly. I've been courting you!"

"What?" I turned my head to the side and stopped striking his backside. "Say that again."

"Say what again?"

"The… the last part."

"You heard me."

"I did not!"

Bard sighed and I felt his back moving as he chuckled. At this point, we were halfway up the hill and I knew that soon we would be spotted – the King and the confectioner, slung over his shoulder like a piece of game from a hunt. Though I admit that I was beginning to warm to the position, when I felt one of his hands tapping absentmindedly on my thigh.

"I've danced with you, and only you, for months. I've written you a letter-"

"A note," I corrected, feeling the smile in my voice. I swallowed, trying to force down a giggle.

"A note, then," he replied and I knew he was grinning, too. "I waited for hours for you when you returned from Erebor. I asked if you were a free woman. I asked if I could call on you after Yule. I asked if I was agreeable to you. I organized lessons for you with my _children. _And on that note – I have let my children dictate to me how best to do all of this, which has led to me losing not a small amount of my fatherly respect!"

"Go on," I said cheerfully, finally letting out the giggle when he groaned.

"I've listened and acted on your advice. I've let you order me around in front of the bloody King of Erebor! And do you know what I told Erland? That if anybody interrupted our meeting, they'd be shoveling horse shite for a week. And _he_ let you in! Even Erland can see what you can't," he said with a decisive soft whack on my rump. "And I've kissed you more times than I can count, and I still want to keep kissing you. Are you going to say anything yet?"

"No!" I retorted and reached my hands up to pinch his waist. "I'm enjoying this." And I was. Despite the circumstances, it was the very first time that he had spoken so many words at once. Somewhere in my mind, that was muddled from being held upside down, I remembered wondering what kind of miracle it would ever take for Bard to say anything longer than a short sentence. It seemed that the phenomenon that was required for Bard to ever give a speech was… myself.

"Oh." Bard grunted in frustration. The next second, I found myself on the ground, staring up at the man I was so helplessly in love with. He sat down beside me, in full view of the guards stationed at the wall, who I could see were crowding around the gate as they took in the spectacle.

"Have you truly not realized?" he asked with a sigh. Suddenly I wished to be a woman that understood men – like the women who followed Bard around whenever dancing was called, who always had a witty remark or intelligent comment at the ready. I felt far too uneven, too inapt, for such a world.

"You disappeared for a week," I reminded him, having decided to speak honestly instead of trying my hand at speech that would be better befitting of a maiden. A maiden I was, but I deemed with relief that I was far too old to dance around the truth. "Does a courting man just up and go after an argument?"

"I…" Bard pulled some grass out of the earth, then scrunched it up into his palm. He exhaled forcefully.

"It is damn frightening."

"What is?" I asked gently.

"When I left your kitchen, I was expecting to hurt for her all over again…" he shrugged and stared down at his lap, his dark eyes serious. "But I didn't. All I felt like doing was going back to _you._"

"Oh," I breathed, and even though I felt pain for Bard being so torn, I knew that a smile stretched over my lips all the same. A smile of quiet satisfaction.

"And that was frightening," he admitted. Bard let out another breath and smiled ruefully when I touched his cheek.

"I wish you would have told me."

"I'm sorry," he said truthfully. "I am. I'm well out of practice with all of this," he grumbled with a wave of his hand at the both of us.

I grinned and let out a nervous laugh. "Out of practice? Are you too old for courting, then?"

"Not too old, not if you'll have me," said Bard and the breath caught in my throat. I bit my lip and ducked my head to hide a bashful smile. A warmth pressed firmly on my head as his hand moved over my hair, twisting the strands at the nape of my neck around his fingers.

"That's another thing, too," he said and shifted closer, then pulled me easily into his lap. "What about the comb?"

I stared at him, trying to work out what he meant. Being cradled in his arms was making it quite difficult to assemble my thoughts. "It's lovely?" I tried, and Bard shook his head with a wolfish grin.

"It's silver," he said and smoothed his hands down my face, until he held my chin with his forefinger and thumb. "Isn't that what you do in the Eastlands?"

If my heart could have raced any faster at his words, I would have flown.

"Silver… coins? How…?" I said breathlessly, watching as his mouth curved slowly into a delicious smile.

"Sigrid told me. I thought you might like the pomegranate flowers instea-"

The only thing that could be heard next was the whistling of the guards, as I grabbed his face and covered his mouth with my own. He returned the kiss as eagerly as I was giving it, and his hands soon slid under the coat to follow the lines of my waist and back, as if he was recommitting me to memory. I buried my hands in his hair, drinking in the taste of him, of honeyed mead and faint traces of smoke. I did not think that there was one taste that was more delightful; not the sweetest of syrups nor the richest of wines.

"You do realise," he whispered when I faintly remembered that we were in public and managed to pull away, "that everyone can see us?"

"I do realise that." I smiled widely and kissed his cheek.

"Then you know that no man in Dale is ever going to approach you again? You'll have to go to Dorwinion or Gondor to find someone." His words were gentle and teasing, though they held truth to them. And Bard was right; no dances, no innocent touches would ever claim me for anyone. But kissing him, in front of the beautiful gates to the city, in full view of the guards, was as good as shouting my love for him from the rooftops.

"I suppose I would," I replied, laughing when he shook his head with a grin. Then he kissed me again, in the most innocent of ways, and leaned his forehead against mine.

"You wouldn't though, would you?" he said, his hand tracing soft lines on my palms.

"I wouldn't. I like Dale," I whispered back, feeling an abrupt sense of nervousness when he swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Then you agree that I've been courting you?"

I pulled back and stared at him, searching his face.

"Do not jest with me," I said in a shaking voice. "Valar be my witness, if you are jesting with me, I will-"

"What?" Bard smiled gently and tucked a hair behind my ear. "Do you not wish to have me court you?"

"I wish it more than anything!" I replied vehemently. "But you… I didn't see you for a week after our argument! I'll not have a man if he's going to sleep in the stables after a blue. I've my own house here, and even if it ruins me for any other, I'll stay there alone if you are jesting with me."

"I'm not jesting with you, dear heart, I swear it," he replied resolutely and kissed me again, my heart thudding in response to his endearment.

"No more ki-" I mumbled then gave in to his insistent mouth.

"No more kissing and buggering off?" Bard supplied when he'd raised his hand in a very impolite gesture to the whistling guards at the gate, who suddenly ducked, then reappeared one by one when they thought we couldn't see.

"Aye, no more of that. And maybe some more courting, if you please."

"More courting?" he pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, and I promptly darted forward to kiss the tantalizing line of black above his eye.

"Lots of it." I agreed with a nod. "Apparently I have missed all the courting you've done so far, so we'll have to remedy that somehow."

"Lots of courting, then," Bard murmured against my lips and wound his hands through my hair, then pressed his mouth firmly to mine, before he released me and stood.

"Come," he said and held out a hand to help me rise. I smoothed my hands over my dress, brushing off the grass, and smiled when he took the coat off of my shoulders, pulled it on himself then opened the side so I could slide my arm around his waist and walk with him, my Bard. We walked up the rest of the hill to the city, through the gates where my cheeks blazed red when the guards bowed their heads to hide their grinning faces.

We walked around the levels, heading ever higher, and Bard returned the called greetings of any that were out so long after the moon had risen. And all the while I was beside him, tucked firmly against his side, wearing my quietly satisfied smile, until we walked together through the doors of the royal house.

I saw the servants turn to watch us, their mouths wide open. I saw Torwald the cook shake his head with an indulgent grin, then turn and bark orders to the inhabitants of the hall, causing them to rush off in all different directions. I saw the hidden smiles of the washerwomen, and the prideful smirks of the older women that assisted in the kitchens, as they looked at one of their own walking with the King.

And I saw Bard. He looked down at me with a tender smile and squeezed my waist, then opened the door for me to the servant's quarters. When we reached the empty corridor outside my room, he raised a hand and let the back of it graze my cheek, before he leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"I'll leave you here," he whispered as his fingers linked with mine.

"If you must," I said weakly and leaned against the wall.

"Oh I must," he said firmly, the tone of his voice so full with want that I stepped back immediately and reached behind me for the door, until I finally managed to open it under the heat of his gaze. My hands shook and my body was trembling, and I had to tear my eyes away from his and clutch my stomach, lest it give away the strange heat that felt almost like a knife, that I recognised immediately as desire.

"You must, then," I said, out of breath, then laughed when he took a step towards me, then turned on his heel, looking as mystified as I felt by the stifling warmth in the air, when we both knew that it was as cold as ice outside.

Bard chuckled quietly and bent down, until his mouth was at my ear. "You agree that I may court you? For if I cannot court you, you must release me from this… this… enchantment," he said, his voice low and strained.

"I agree," I whispered, my eyelids fluttering closed. Then from somewhere that I could not name, a newfound courage pooled in my belly and I pulled his head down and stood on my toes, my mouth at his ear.

"And you agree that if I am yours, then you are mine?"

I felt a shudder move his body as my breath ghosted over his neck, and his hands gripped onto my waist to hold me there, against him in the corridor.

"I agree," he murmured and turned his face to the side until our lips were level, and pressed a soft kiss to my mouth.

"If I am yours, am I the farmer with a field of hops or the king?" he said with a smirk, repeating the words I had spoken in anger earlier that evening.

"Which one do you want to be?" I asked curiously.

"It doesn't matter," he vowed. "Farmer, king, bargeman, bowman…" he trailed off with a shrug.

"If you were a farmer, if you were a bargeman, you would still be mine," I finished the sentence for him, grinning delightedly when he nodded and wordlessly brought me to him again, until I could almost believe that he was a farmer and I was a maid for country matters, given how ardently his mouth was moving on mine.

A door slammed shut somewhere in the house, and the spell was broken. Bard released me and I stepped backwards into my room, trying my best to bite back a smile but failing miserably as I shut the door on the dark and stormy eyes that followed my every movement. When the door was safely shut, I leaned against it, then felt the wood creak from Bard mirroring my movement on the other side, until I could imagine that there was no door between our bodies at all.

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* * *

A/N

The silver coins are mentioned in the beginning of chapter fifteen, in case anyone needs a little reminder.

Katnor – Did he do well?

Wolf9lucky – Finished as quickly as I could for you ;)

Debatable-cerealkiller – thank you! For the review here, and there. Truly, thank you.

Eryndil – me too. Don't worry, Anne and co. have some plans to speed it all along. And thank you! Torwald. Have just gone through and fixed it all!

Guest – No, not Thengel – Léofa, a guard in his retinue.

RedStalkingDeath – thank you for your reviews on the chapters! I'm so glad you liked them. I hope you like this particular chapter as well.

Jojo657 – Your wish is my command!


	20. Chapter 20

The next month passed quickly. Dale blossomed in the change from winter to spring, becoming again the city that I had fallen in love with when I had first arrived. The jasmine vines grew ever longer, and roses began to bloom on their bushes. I took to spending my afternoons working outside, carving designs into fruit skins and grinding my sugar on a small bench at the back of the house that over looked the garden. From there, I could sit back and breathe in the fresh floral scent that surrounded me, and close my eyes and think of all of the beauty that spring brings with it. I could watch the baskets of fruit being brought up from the orchards, and I could pick out bright, shining pomegranates and cut into them with Bard's knife, and both of us would stain our fingers red.

Spring in the Eastlands is the season of weddings, betrothals and celebrations. Songs are sung, dedicated to the new flowers that pop up in brightly coloured pots, dangling from roofs in the palaces and private courtyards. The flowers in Rhûn are often smaller and hardier, lasting long after winter has taken its first, cold breaths, but in spring they come alive. Small purple flowers cover the dry, golden ground, and spring rain makes the sands bloom with bushes of bright green. With the spring rain comes beauty, and I knew that in Dorwinion, at this very moment, the vines would be waking up from their winter slumber, and the fruit would be fresh and juicy and sweet.

It was with this in mind that I was sitting on the bench, my back against the wall of the house, waiting for Bard to come around the corner and hold his arm out to me. With each day, I found myself thinking of home - all three of my homes: Dale, Dorwinion and Rhûn – and I was becoming restless. Even Bard, when he came, remarked that my fingers would tap against any spare surface when I had a moment free from work, often a table or sometimes his own palms when we walked together in the mornings.

"I am agitated," I admitted, turning to face him and screwing my mouth up. He burst into laughter and cupped my face, then kissed me firmly on the mouth.

"Why? What has my lady agitated?" he asked, smirking when I elbowed his side.

"I have been in Dale for one year," I began, glancing at him from under my lashes to see him looking at my arm that was curved around his. We were walking around the royal house, a path that amused Bard to no end, but was essential to me, a woman who much preferred being outside rather than in.

"I have been in Dale for one year, and I am agitated. I wish to do something."

"Ah." Bard nodded seriously. If I could say just one thing about this man, this King, I would say that he was a good listener. I realized soon after we began our walks that while he was not the type of man to talk as much as I, he took all of my words to heart, and thought on them, making me feel more important than any man ever had. I remembered suddenly when he had crouched down beside me in the corridor once, looking for pieces of a broken sugar figure, and I thought with a smile that I was a blessed woman indeed.

"And what would you like to do?"

"I have been considering going for a visit to Dorwinion," I answered slowly, taking note of how his step faltered for a moment, and then resumed the usual pace. "Or perhaps even to Rhûn. But I would settle for Laketown," I finished with a laugh when he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him, behind the privacy of a hibiscus tree.

"Spring, Laketown," he whispered as his mouth moved from my jaw to my ear. "Simple enough."

"Simple?" I echoed, already breathless.

"Aye," he said between kisses on my collarbones. "Hilda's girl, wedding, visit."

"I did not understand anything that you just said," I remarked wryly, and he stepped away, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Hilda's girl is getting married in a fortnight, remember? I will take you."

"Oh!" I clapped a hand to my mouth. I had forgotten that I'd offered to help Hilda with the sweets. "She is! Yes! And no, you can't."

"I can't what?" Bard grumbled and held out his arm again, and I wound my hand around it.

"You can't take me, because I'm doing the sweetmeats, so I'll be in the kitchens most of the night. And it wouldn't be proper."

"It wouldn't be 'proper'?" He looked down at me with a sly smirk. "Propriety doesn't matter on the Long Lake. Besides, isn't it a bit late to be worrying about what is proper?"

I looked down at his arm that had moved to my waist and smiled widely. "You might be old and ancient," I teased, "but I am a young and innocent maiden. You are corrupting me."

Bard threw his head back and laughed, something that I had seen more often in the last month, and I was glad for it. I did not care that there was a good ten years between us, but I did care that the stress lines on his forehead disappeared when he was taking pleasure in my company. I raised a hand and traced the lines above his brow with my index finger, then the lines at the corner of his eyes that I could now say were lines of laughter and not of worry. He leaned into my touch, then placed a kiss on my palm.

"So, it's decided then. I'll escort you to Laketown in a fortnight, because I'm terribly decrepit, and you have been thoroughly corrupted," he said with a squeeze to my hand and kissed my forehead, then strode off back towards the house, looking over his shoulder for a second and laughing when he saw me with an eyebrow raised and hands on my hips.

"He's got you wound around his finger, don't he?" a gruff, female voice said from behind me and I turned to see Aedre, one of the washerwomen. She was an older woman, dark haired with strands of grey all over, who had seen many years in Laketown under the Master, which had turned her into a woman who took no nonsense and she led the washing rooms in Dale with well-practiced ease and a firm hand.

I shrugged in response, and cupped a hand over my eyes to shade them from the warm spring sun.

"Nothing to fear from me, lass!" Aedre grinned, baring a set of teeth that was down by half, and I ducked my head, embarrassed that I had allowed her to think that I was flouting her.

"Best you watch out, though," she said as she passed me with a washing basket on her hip. "Some won't like seeing a lass like you rising so high, and being favoured, too."

I frowned and laid a soft hand on her arm. "Rising high? Who? And what is a lass like me?"

"Birna's mam, for one," she said with a pointed look, and I knew she had seen me when I had reprimanded the girl the year before. I bit back a grin, remembering the evil little thing that had cowered in front of me when I had defended Tilda. The woman who had birthed her must have been a piece of work; I'd never met her, or even seen her, but Birna had had no scruples about telling Tilda that a girl who had killed her mother on the birthing stool was not a girl deserving of a crown, so I in turn had had no scruples in telling her that I would scratch her eyes out if I saw her near Tilda again. In my defense, I had not thought that I would find myself being courted by Bard, although truth be told, I would say it again if I had to.

"And?" I patted Aedre's arm. "I've nothing to fear if you're behind me, now, do I?"

"Ha! Lass, we're all with you. Just be careful, is all," she said and barked out a laugh and continued on her way.

"Aedre?" I called out just before she turned the corner and disappeared from my view.

"Aye, child?"

"What did you mean, when you said a lass like me?"

Aedre looked uncomfortable as she considered my question. It made me reach out a hand to steady myself against the wall; never had I seen her look so ill at ease.

"Aedre?"

"A girl with Eastern blood, lass, who's not to be trusted," she said gently. "That's what some of the women are saying."

"Variag blood?" I said through gritted teeth, and looked down at my feet when she nodded. I stayed silent, knowing she wasn't finished.

"There are some who think you're reaching too far," she added. "But not I." Aedre set her basket down and waved a hand in the air, showing me what she thought of such rumours. "Not I, and not anyone who matters. But take care, would you? Even if they don't matter, they can still be mighty loud."

"Aye, I'll take care," I muttered and nodded a farewell to the older woman. I stayed until she disappeared around the corner, then turned on my heel and strode back to the safety of my small kitchen. Not for the first time in my life, but for the first time in Dale, I wished for my mother. I could have written to her; she would have set me straight. But there was no one to reassure me; no woman to listen to my fears and pour me a warm tea, then send me to bed. I could not change my skin, nor did I want to, and I was turning one and thirty this year, old enough to make decisions for myself.

So I made my own cup of tea, and sent myself to bed.

* * *

My conversation with Aefre stayed at the back of my mind for days, but I did not notice anything out of the ordinary. And thankfully, Sigrid marched in and took my third cup of hot tea from my hands one afternoon, and requested my presence for a task that would provide me with much needed humour for many years to come.

"There's a suitor here," she hissed in my ear, steering me down the corridors and through to the main hall. "I need a chaperone."

"A chaperone?" I snorted then scratched my chin thoughtfully. "I could be a chaperone. Who is it?" I scanned the hall, seeing a sea of grey hair, nothing unusual for Dale's royal house.

"There," Sigrid mumbled and pointed to where Bard was having a conversation with a man the same age as he was. I stepped back automatically, and felt the grip of her hand tighten on my arm.

"Surely not?" I whispered under my breath, when the man turned and smiled kindly at Sigrid and I, and Bard grinned openly from behind his back. "Is this what your Da was thinking when he said meet all of your suitors?"

The man seemed familiar, and as the silence dragged on, it came to me that he was one of the commanding lords of the lower lands, where many of our spring fruits were being grown. I could faintly remember journeying through the fertile farmlands on my way from Dorwinion to Dale over a year ago, and admiring the organized way that the men took to the fields, and the hearty welcome the women gave me when I stopped at one of the inns on my journey.

"Come now," I murmured to my friend. "It'll be alright. Look straight-laced, will you?"

Sigrid tittered and quickly turned her gaze demurely to the ground, and I held her tighter and began to walk towards the two men.

"My lord, sire," I curtseyed deeply and smiled blandly to the man, noting that Bard was still smirking with pleasure.

"Ah, Princess Sigrid," the man bowed to her, though not as low as I personally would have preferred him to, and I bristled with annoyance. I was no noble woman, though any man worth his salt would have referred to me as well, and this man did not even look my way once. Sigrid kept her eyes trained on the ground, and I squeezed her hand.

"My ladies," the man began, "allow me to introduce my son, Girion."

If I had been a woman to whistle, I just might have at the young man that stepped out from behind his father. He was tall and dark haired, with light blue eyes and a pleasingly tanned, friendly face. He had the agreeable look of a man that had spent a good time in the sun, and his hand when he stretched it towards Sigrid was not smooth, the way a haughty nobleman's son may have been. Even Bard looked impressed, and I had the sneaking suspicion that he was silently congratulating himself when Sigrid blushed a beautiful shade of pink.

"My lady Princess," Girion bowed low, and kissed the knuckles of her hand. "And my lady…?" He turned to me with a smile, and I would have wilted right then and there had I been a flower.

"Anne," I supplied with a beam and ignored Bard's raised eyebrow when Girion bent over my hand and brushed his lips politely on my skin.

"Bard must have forgotten to tell you it was the son, not the father," I muttered to Sigrid when we had stepped back slightly, keeping a more than modest distance between us.

"Of course he would forget. Anyway, it matters not," she shot back. "He's not Fili."

This time it was I that could not stop the impressed expression on my face, and I turned to her with a proud smile.

"No, he's not," I said gently and squeezed her arm again.

"May I call on you tomorrow afternoon, Princess Sigrid?" Girion asked smoothly, and if Sigrid's frown meant anything to him, he did not show it at all, though from behind him Bard shot his eldest daughter a pointed look.

"You may," she said quietly and I finally spoke up.

"Perhaps a walk in the garden would be pleasurable," I suggested, ignoring Bard's barely disguised snort of amusement as he heard my courtly speech. "The weather is so lovely, and the flowers are beginning to bloom ever so beautifully."

"If it is agreeable to the lady, then I should like nothing more," Girion nodded with a smile that was so sweet it might have churned butter all on its own.

Sigrid nodded silently and soon we were back in my kitchen, having pleaded tiredness from such an exhaustive afternoon. I saw Bard roll his eyes at that comment but we persisted, and made a slow and stately walk away from the trio in the hall.

"Right," I grinned when the door was safely shut. "I've a plan for you!"

I darted around to my workbench and bent down to the drawers, fishing out writing materials. I bent over the parchment that I kept locked up, considering the valuable material was delivered from Gondor, then tapped the quill against my thigh, waiting for inspiration. When it came, I scribbled a short note, wishing my hand was tidier, but it would do. I winked at Sigrid, then skipped out of the hall and found the young sandy haired serving boy that had opened the door for me at the great feast, all of those months ago.

"Would you see that this gets to Erebor?" I whispered and placed a coin in his palm, along with sweetened almonds. "Take it yourself, if you can."

"Aye, lady, I'll do it myself," he said proudly. He grinned and puffed out his chest, then took off at a run towards the stables. I stayed outside of the hall, waiting until I saw him emerge from the stables with a bay mare.

"Who should I say it's for?" He leant down in the saddle and I slipped him more almonds when I saw Bard standing at the doors to the hall, watching us with interest.

I thought for a moment, debating whether I needed the assistance of a young and spirited man, or a serious old grump.

"Lady Anne?"

"Both," I decided. "I need both. Make sure that gets seen by Lord Dwalin and the Prince Kili; no one else. Go on now," I ordered and rubbed the neck of his horse, grinning when he gave a little cry and urged the horse forward.

"Where are you sending him?" Bard said in my ear, having come up behind me, and he laid his hands on my shoulders. I leaned back into his chest, watching the boy ride lower and lower until he disappeared from my view.

"Oh, I can't quite remember where he said he was going. Gondor, I suppose," I grinned and dodged the hands that darted out to snatch my waist, then let them draw me to him when he reached for me a second time.

"You are transparent," he said, and pushed my face up gently with a thumb under my chin.

"No," I said slowly, and let him pull me back until we were in the shadows of the wall. "I am doing the right thing by your daughter."

Bard shook his head and grumbled inaudibly, then heaved a sigh. "I want her to have happiness," he admitted with a helpless shrug. "Am I really to believe that she will find it with a dwarf?"

"Oh," I swatted his shoulder. "You're an old grouch. She will find it with whomever she wants to find it with. You did, and you are again," I reminded him with a poke to his chest.

"I've found happiness, have I?" he said blandly. "Looks to me like I've found a woman that likes me wrapped around her little finger."

I rolled my eyes dramatically then frowned, his remark making me think of the conversation with Aedre. I still hadn't seen one wink of this woman, Birna's mother, who supposedly disliked me so much that the sternest woman in Dale had thought I needed to be warned. And warned of what? If we were in Gondor, I would have known to guard my tongue, lest she had sent someone to listen to my words, then twist them cleverly enough until they resembled something incriminating, and I would have been sent back to Dorwinion with all of the honour of a hunting hound who had lost the game, tail between my legs and all. But in Dale, which had risen from the ashes of a dragon? What would I need to be warned about?

"Bard," I began, chewing on my lip. "Do you know Birna's mother?"

Bard stepped back immediately and frowned. "Aye, there's not many around in Dale or Laketown that don't know Birna and Annis."

I spread my hands in an unspoken gesture for him to continue and he shrugged.

"She's a widow. Hilda's second cousin."

"Hilda's second cousin?" I repeated, and Bard shrugged again.

"They're not too different, though her daughter is an apple that fell far, far from the tree."

None of that made any sense to me, at least not in the way that she might be someone who held an ill will towards me, until Bard cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Some years ago, Annis tried to talk about marriage with me, but it wasn't… she wasn't…" he trailed off and winced, the contortion of his face making me chortle with relief. A woman out for a settling of the scores, then, and nothing more. Easily dealt with, if it needed to be, but I did not have anything that could be used against me, and Bard was not the type of man to care about the mixture of Variag and Dorwinion blood that ran through my body. I smiled up at him, waving a hand in the air when he asked why I had thought to ask about her.

"It doesn't matter," I grinned and wound my arms around his neck. The kiss that followed was long and gentle, as kindhearted as the man that held me within his arms, and I concentrated instead on the upcoming trip to Laketown, where I would be escorted by my Bard, who tasted like honey. I did not think about Annis or Birna at all.

* * *

"What a fine afternoon."

"Oh yes, simply delightful."

"Do you often take walks in the garden?"

I craned my neck forward, straining to hear the rest of the conversation, but Sigrid's answer was lost to the wind. No doubt it would have been as bland as the question, I decided, and linked my hands behind my back. I was walking slowly behind Sigrid and Girion, barely paying attention to the words they were saying. Instead I was waiting for Sigrid's signal, and with a grin I noticed a head of dark hair half hidden by a rose bush, ready and prepared.

We took another turn and I heard Sigrid politely asking questions about Girion's family and lands. I nodded to myself in approval, seeing that while she was not at all interested in the young man, she was following her father's advice and respectfully learning more about him. I was just about to sit down on a bench and let them have another turn about the garden in private, when I saw how her fingers clicked together three times, covered by a soft laugh she must have had to conjure up out of thin air as Girion was sadly about as amusing as a sober Mirkwood elf.

"Oh," I exclaimed loudly, the sound carrying throughout the garden. "Oh, oh dear!"

Sigrid turned and Girion led her quickly back to me. "Lady Anne?" He peered at me. "Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, oh," I fanned myself. "I do not know, it is simply very hot, oh dear, oh-"

"_Lady Anne!" _Kili boomed from the other end of the garden. He strode towards us as if he had just happened upon us, though the wink he shared with Sigrid was not lost on me. "Oh, Lady Anne! You poor, delicate thing!"

When Girion's back was turned to survey the new arrival, I rolled my eyes in Kili's direction, mouthing "delicate?" then began fanning myself again when Sigrid shrugged helplessly.

"It is oh so very warm in the sun," I said and held out my hand to the light, then cried softly and returned it back to my lap, as I was sitting in the shade. "So very warm."

"Not suitable for you at all now, is it, my dear?" Kili crowed and sat himself down with a thud. "Girrily, my boy, would you run and get the lady a cool refreshment? She must be parched from all of this walking. Not a suitable activity for ladies at all. Why, Girrily, whatever possessed you to take them out in the garden? I fear Lady Anne might just faint. You'd best sit down, too, Princess, I fear that your cheeks are far too pink and I worry about you so."

"It's Girio-" the young man began with a scowl but Kili groaned loudly.

"And she's fainted! You've done it now!" he cried and nudged my side, and on cue I gave a tiny little sigh and closed my eyes, letting my head fall until my chin touched my chest. I kept my head down, until I heard the sound of feet moving in another direction, and then peeked out from under my lashes.

"Enough?" I whispered to my conspirator, who nudged me again, in time to see Fili enter the garden, gawk at his beloved, then stride determinedly down the path and offer his arm to Sigrid, who took it without hesitation. By this point I was so surprised that when Fili looked back to check if we would follow, I simply waved them on with a dazed expression.

"We'll be right behind you," I called and then turned to Kili with a scowl.

"That was not the plan," I said sternly to his younger brother, who held up his hands in a show of innocence that would have looked more suited to a mouse instead of the wolf in front of me. "If the King knew, he'd be most displeased."

"What else could I do?" Kili countered, then stood and gallantly offered me the crook of his arm. "You send me a letter that tells me to come to the aid of the princess at once! At once! And bring Dwalin while I'm at it."

"I did not write 'at once!' twice," I muttered. "And Dwalin may have been needed. Girion's father is quite determined."

Kili shuddered. "Dwalin was ready to storm into the garden, swinging his axe. Surely you prefer me, and my tag-a-long brother?"

I pondered the question for longer than necessary, then sighed. "Yes, yes. All right, then. Have your fun," I said with a sigh and in spite of myself, let out a laugh when he grinned and shook his head like a lion shaking his mane.

"_You _have a little fun!" Kili said and wagged a finger in my face as he led us down the path and out of the garden. The figures of Sigrid and Fili were in front of us, though there was so much distance between us that we were only there for appearances sake, as not even Kili's ears would have heard what was being said between the two of them.

Eventually we arrived at the market of Dale and, true to Kili's instruction, I began to enjoy myself. Fili led Sigrid back to us and the two brothers spent the afternoon taking us around to the stalls run by the best toymakers from Erebor, and in turn Sigrid took us to one of the small eateries in the market, run by a fishwife from Laketown that made the best fried fish that I had ever tasted. I even managed to find a stall with dried Dorwinion herbs, manned by a handsome dark haired man with eyes as black as mine, who smiled kindly on me and refused my payment when I finally chose sweet, dried basil and lavender. I ducked my head to hide my blush and quickly made my way back to Sigrid and the brothers, away from the stare of the man, and away from the stare of a beautiful, copper haired woman that I had not noticed had been watching us all afternoon, with a calculating look that would not be out of place on a great cat watching its prey.

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A/N

Thank you as always to the new reviewers, followers and favourites! My apologies for future posts, as my laptop is dancing on the brink of death so I have been writing whenever I can get the screen to work, which isn't always. The scene with Birna and Tilda is described from Sigrid's POV in 'Letters to Sigrid', chapter two. Eastlands/East/Rhûn, all refer to the same place, and Variags is what Tolkien refers to the inhabitants as.

Jepenner - thank you, thank you!

Lystan - I think both Fili and Bard are much better at courting than they both might think.

Jojo - that's one way of putting it!

Kaia - thank you!

Intothemoon - done!

Guest/Jane - What a wonderful review. It's really warmed my heart. I hope it pleases you that this story has quite a long way to go, so I hope you will continue to enjoy it.

Eryndil - Ha! I'm winking, I am.

RedStalkingDeath - thanks for reading!

Debatable-cerealkiller - me too, believe me.

Katnor - I think he did amazingly well, though I admit that I am always in favour of Bard, even if he might be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes.

Enjolras - thank you very much! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter as well.


	21. Chapter 21

The spring morning was crisp and dry in Dale, though it meant nothing to me in my small kitchen that was near sweltering and nigh on suffocating me with the scent of roses. I had been working since before dawn, polishing the final touches on the sweetmeats and sugared fruits, with the main piece sitting on the bench. I would take the almonds and roll them in sugar and all the while I would surreptitiously glance over at the beautiful piece of art that was ready to be presented to the new couple.

The wedding of Sigrid, daughter of Hilda, and her betrothed was to be the first wedding I had ever attended or catered for in Dale or Laketown. In fact, I had never been to Laketown – I had seen the strange town that seemed to sit on the water all on its own during glimpses while walking around Dale, but never had I walked along the long wooden bridges into the city. I did not know if the people in Dale and Laketown celebrated weddings like those in Gondor or Dorwinion or Rhun, and so I was unsure as to whether the final piece I had created would be met with confusion or excitement. Bard made the decision for me.

"What is that?" he asked when he poked his head in the door just after dawn.

I stood from where I had been crouching down in an effort to rest my legs, and stretched my arms high above my head, the joints cracking as a result of my increased activity in the days leading up to the wedding.

Bard made his way into the room and shut the door, then closed his eyes as he breathed in the smell of the roses.

"Are you brewing a potion?"

I giggled and waved him away when he made to reach for me. "I am hot and not fit for touching today," I said and gestured to my damp face and hair that was sticking to my forehead. The room was stifling; I had begun the process of making rose water as soon as I had arrived in my kitchen hours before, and there was a large pot bubbling over the fire, filled with water and fresh rose petals, along with a smaller pot inside that would collect the hot beads of condensation from the inside of the closed lid. That would become my rose water. Most would stay in my kitchen and last a good month or so, but Kili had made me a beautiful bottle of glass that had tiny engravings of silver at the base, from coins I had saved that he had melted them down to add into the design on the bottle, as well as the whole of the lid. The bottle, and the fresh rosewater inside, would be my gift to the bride. The piece in front of Bard and I would be my gift to the family, and to all who would come to join in the celebration of the joining of the young, fair couple.

"It is a house," I said shyly when Bard came to stand beside me, his hand moving a cool cloth in circles on the back of my neck. He took in the construction silently, his eyes running over the large house of marchpane, with floors of gingerbread, and a roof that was topped with ribbons of sugar. "A new beginning."

Bard exhaled with a low whistle, and I flushed with pride. "You have outdone yourself," he pronounced. "This will move hearts far more than any mountain or tree. Not that they are not as equally lovely," he added when I arched an eyebrow and smiled.

"You flatter me," I replied and in spite of my appearance, I leaned into him and rested my forehead against his chest. I took in the scent of him, of the pine that was added to the royal fires, and the lavender rushes that Sigrid had taken to sprinkling on the floors, the way I had seen in the palace during my studies in Dol Amroth. There was an underlying smell to his skin of spices and soap, and I turned my nose to the bare skin at his neck to breathe him in.

"You are still not fit for touching?" Bard asked in a low, hoarse voice and my lips against his skin ghosted into a smile.

"Perhaps after a bath," I attempted to appease him, but I felt the muscles of his chest contract under my hands.

"You are not helping," he said with a gruff laugh and I reluctantly stepped away from his arms and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, shaking my head as I emerged from the haze of desire. I had no words to placate him, as I was in enough of trouble myself.

"Say," Bard began when we had distanced ourselves enough for him to sample some almonds and marmalade I had made from fat, juicy quinces. I leaned against my bench, and waited while he cleaned a small bit of jam from his lip with his thumb. "Has anything of yours gone missing recently? Over the last few days?"

I turned to him, puzzled. "Missing? I haven't noticed…" I immediately walked around the bench and retrieved the key from the chain on my neck and opened the drawers, checking the valuable loaves of sugar and jars of expensive spices. My hands moved over each lid and loaf, and I counted under my breath.

"No, everything is here. Why?"

"And your personal belongings?" Bard smiled apologetically and I chewed on my lip as he followed me while we returned along the corridor to my bedroom at the end.

"No," I repeated, after I had dug through my chest, and felt under the false bottom of the middle drawer, my fingers brushing over the coins I kept there and the golden jewelry that had once belonged to my mother and now belonged to me. "Why?"

Bard pressed his lips together and leaned against the closed door of my bedroom. "Sigrid came to me last night, said some of her things are missing. A comb, and some documents."

I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. "Documents?"

"Aye, she said they weren't important, just some trade letters from Erebor, but-"

"Trade letters from Erebor?" I confirmed, feeling my heart sink when he nodded. I realized then that while I had thought that I was safe, because I had nothing that Annis or Birna could ever take from me, I had not thought that they would reach into the safety of the children that I had come to think of as my family, reach their greedy little fingers in until they came out with something they thought they could use to hurt us.

"What are you thinking of?" Bard asked, taking in my scowl and fingers that were tapping against an arm crossed over my chest.

"Nothing," I shook my head with a small smile, but my mind was far, far away, wondering how on earth I could protect Sigrid from a girl so spiteful that she would come into the very royal house itself and leave her mark, like a wraith in the night.

"Bard? I have to wash," I said with a diffident grin and waved him out of the room with a playful tap on his wrist. "I'll see you in the afternoon?"

"Aye," he nodded and kissed my cheek. "Would you like to walk or ride?"

"Oh," I smiled a true smile and shook my head. "You are my suitor, surely you should know?"

* * *

My suitor did know. When the sun was high in the sky and I had washed and changed out of my work clothes and into a riding outfit with my pack with a dress for that evening inside it slung over my shoulders, I made my way out of the royal house to see Edelind saddled and ready for me. I beamed at Bard, already mounted on the amusingly large horse that he insisted on riding, and Tilda who was perched in front of him.

"You can't ride?" I asked Tilda, after I had swung myself into the saddle at the mounting block.

"No," she grumbled and I grinned.

"Something to remedy, then!" I replied and urged Edelind forward unhurriedly, until the large group was ready to depart and we began a slow walk down the hill. For it was not just Bard and his family that were attending; considering most of the population of Dale had been from Laketown in the beginning (and Dale again, hundreds of years before that), Hilda's daughter had many that wished to come and see her being joined with a good young man. The hooves of the horses were near deafening, even at a walk, though Bard led the procession from the very front, flanked by his children. I laughed when he insisted that I join them, for I knew that royals travelled at the front because of protocol that wished for them to avoid the clouds of dust that inevitably grew from horse's hooves, though I was vain enough to quickly agree.

"And who will you ride beside?" Bard asked, and I looked past him to where his son was cantering down the road.

"Bain!" I answered with a wink, and squeezed my legs against Edelind's form, guiding her faster until I matched the striding lengths of Bain's tall horse. Bard's son moved naturally in the saddle, completely unlike his sisters and even his father, who still rode as if he preferred to be doing something else. But Bain – when the horse lengthened his stride, Bain did not even shift; when he guided the horse to jump over logs on the side of the road, he did not move an inch; he and the horse moved as if they were one. I whistled at that, and clapped my hands loudly.

"Good, good!" I called and followed after him, gliding over the poor man's jump with a giggle of glee. I remembered the ladies of Gondor, that would trot stately around courses designed especially for their side saddles; modest jumps of polished and well painted fences, tiny bodies of water dug out of the ground for their horses to walk through, that were always shallow enough to make sure no splashes would reach their skirts.

"Do you think so?" Bain turned and for a moment he was a boy again, not the young man of fifteen whose voice was now as deep as his father's.

"Oh I do!" I smiled and nodded my head. "Perhaps we can ride together more often. Is this your horse?" I waved a hand towards the tall, black mare.

"No," he shrugged with a downturned mouth. "I borrowed her. I should like to try a stallion, one day."

I thought for a moment and smiled. "Aye, I think you would do well," I pronounced, watching his pleased beam and I had the warming thought that perhaps if Bard and I married, this would be my boy; my boy that I could take with me, and look for a stallion to match his spirit.

We both turned when we heard laughter behind us, two feminine voices that sounded like clear water, so smooth were they.

"Who are they, Bain?" I asked him in a low voice, though from the moment I saw the beauty of the younger girl, with her copper hair, I knew them to be the mother and daughter that I thought so badly of that very morning, and thought to be thieves.

"Birna and her mother, Annis," Bain answered with a shy clearing of his throat, and when I turned to ask him to repeat his soft words, I saw the obvious admiring gaze of a young man that cannot find fault in a woman so beautiful. And Birna was beautiful indeed. Her hair flowed freely down her back in waves, and her green eyes shone even from her position behind us. She did not wear a riding outfit as she sat astride her horse, but instead a plain dark dress, with leggings peeking out every now and then. That was the first thing that made me think that surely I must have had it all wrong. Surely a girl whose mother could not even have one set of clothing for travelling for her would not be the type to place a coin into a waiting palm of a maid, and hiss with joy when the goods she wished for were delivered to her minutes later.

Even when Birna turned her face to us and smiled at Bain, I thought that I must have been wrong. She did not look like the spiteful girl of the summer before; she looked like a girl who had a lot to complain about. And I thought I could even understand her, when I saw her mother Annis. Annis was handsome; there was no other word for it. Her white face was smooth and her brown hair gleamed in the sun. But she held herself proudly and even on her skinny horse, she towered over me when the pair rode past. That did not stop me from greeting her politely, and smiling on them kindly, as if I had never threatened her daughter and never seen Birna being so uncouth. Birna grimaced in response and her cheeks flamed red, though her mother's face stayed hard, and her dark blue eyes were like stone when she nodded her head shortly. I thought for a second that there was sadness there, but as soon as I caught it, it was gone, and again Annis was the hard woman, and mother and daughter soon rode past us.

"Bain?" I turned to him when the dust from their hooves had settled and they were tiny figures in the distance. "Why…?"

"Annis was never the same after her husband's death," he said with a shrug. "And Birna changed, too."

His last words came with a challenging stare at me, as if whatever I might say would be used in the opinion he had been forming of me over the last year.

"Both of them look like they have a lot to complain about," I said, echoing my thoughts. "They do not look happy at all."

Bain sighed and smiled ruefully, and reached over with his hand and patted my arm. "Others aren't so kind to them," he said, and soon his face was turned back to the two figures that had almost reached one of the long bridges to the town on the Lake.

"Others might have been luckier than you and I," I reminded him gently. "But they would be kind if they were given reason to be."

"Aye, I know it," Bain replied, and the longing in his voice was unmistakable. I decided then that no matter what Birna and Annis had done, I would work for Bain and try my best to calm the storm that was inevitably coming. And I could do nothing to stop it, for even though I had my suspicions, I had no proof, no evidence. I felt a shiver run through my body, and masked it with an absentminded smile at Bain, knowing that something would change soon and I had no power to control it. For we had almost arrived in Laketown, and when I looked up into the sky for a moment, my vision blurred and I saw three suns, something that my mother always warned me against, and I knew that whatever was coming would come to a head that very evening. But for good or bad, I did not know.

* * *

"Careful, careful," I pleaded with the serving boys as they unloaded the precious sweetmeats and marchpane house. "I've a bowl set aside especially for you all if nothing is damaged."

That set them right, and they were soon moving at a slow, deliberate pace, and inch-by-inch we made our way into the back door of the kitchens. The boys were confident on the wooden beams under our feet, but I walked on my toes, cringing all the way when I saw the water flowing beneath.

We had arrived in Laketown an hour before. I kept Edelind to the side, and dismounted to walk her across the long bridge after most of the procession had gone past, in an effort to take in the city in my own time. I already knew that it would not be particularly beautiful, but I had a wish to see the city of Bard's birth, and of his earlier life, and I wanted to make my own opinion without the excited buzzing of the crowd in my ear.

My first impression was that it was the most interesting town I had ever seen. The long bridges stretched from the land to the very middle of the lake, and the wood still gleamed; they still looked new, having been constructed only a few short years before after the fiery breath of the dragon reduced much of the town to ash. The bridges met teetering wooden buildings that perched on wooden stilts that disappeared into the depths below. Edelind tossed her head, uncomfortable, and I echoed her opinion with a nervous pat to her neck. It felt strange to be walking on water, and watch people go about their daily life on a living, breathing surface.

A stable boy with a puffed out chest took Edelind from me and promised to take care of her, and I dropped a few nuts into his hand with a grin when his eyes widened in surprise. He had never seen such sweets before, and quickly we were surrounded by a gaggle of little boys and girls, that dragged me this way and that. Some took me to their parents to show them the sweets, but I privately thought that perhaps they wished to show off such a strange looking woman like myself. It did not bother me at all, for each man or woman I met was kind and honest, and smiled on me with enough warmth that I felt instantly at home.

In time, I excused myself, almost brokenhearted when some of the younger girls pouted and their lips quivered. I left all the same, my pockets completely empty of all of the little treats I always kept there, and turned around with the intention of finding the kitchens, but instead I found myself utterly lost.

"Goodwife?" I called and knocked on the door of one of the houses I had been dragged to, smiling apologetically when the mother poked her head out of the door. "Goodwife, would you show me to the kitchens?"

"Ha!" The woman clapped her hands and stepped lithely down the steps to join me on one of the main thoroughfares through the town. "Lost already are you? Come now, my boy will show you where to go, and when you've washed the dust from the road away and dressed in your finest, you make sure you come back and find me at the feast. I'll take you around to meet everyone."

I ducked my head with a blush and thanked her, then let a gangly little boy take my hand and guide me past the houses and markets that were teeming with people and selling all sorts of things, from fish to vegetables and fruit. Once I even caught a glimpse of Bard standing with his children, and he waved with a loud laugh at the sight of me being pulled along by a boy half my size. I raised my hand in return and blew him a kiss, and danced off with the boy as if we were both joyful little birds, letting our wings extend in the warm spring sun.

The boy, Brand, stayed when I asked if he'd like to help me in the kitchens and when I nodded at his eager request, he darted away and came back with every single one of the children I had met earlier. They watched with open mouths as I carefully unloaded each piece of the house from the boxes that had flour inside to keep them safe from being damaged on the jostling journey. Little cupped palms were held out, ready for any little pieces that I let deliberately fall from my hands as if in an accident.

Bard found me like that, the house completely assembled and all of the sugar bowls ready. He walked in as I was sitting in the middle of a circle of children, delighting in their simple pleasure as they sampled each little thing that I passed around.

"Clear out," he ordered them with mock severity and they all squealed with surprise and scattered, their laughter staying in the room long after they had run off.

"They won't sleep tonight now," he said with a smile, and pulled me to my feet. "Their mothers will never forgive you."

"Oh, they will," I said proudly. "For I have an invitation to sit with them all."

"You do?" Bard stepped back and held me at arm's length, then chuckled and shook his head. "The fishwives of Laketown are fierce creatures. I don't know how you managed to get them under your wings, but you've a little army behind you now. They won't let me near you."

"Oh?" I smiled and bit my lip. "What a pity that is."

His answer came in the form of a kiss that was sweet but all too short, and he left me with the instruction to ask my new friends to leave their fry pans at home so he could at least have me for one dance that evening. I chortled and shut the door on his smiling face, then took one last look at the sweets, and made my way out again, back through another door that went into the royal hall. It was smaller than Dale's but modeled in a similar way, with dark wooden tables and tapestries hanging on the walls. The lamps were simpler, not as ornate, and the chairs were long benches and not backed with iron from Erebor, but it was a homely, welcoming place.

Hilda had arranged for a bed for me in the house, with a group of women that were also attending the wedding. When she showed me to the room, I turned to her with a smile.

"You could have given me a bed in the servant's quarters, you know," I said and laughed when she chuckled.

"No, my girl, for they're all single rooms, and you're under my care now. I have to make sure no one's going to come in under the cover of the night and take you away," she shot back and my cheeks coloured a brilliant red and I ducked into the room, away from her knowing smirk.

I washed in the bathing rooms, then combed out my hair and sat by the window wrapped in a long sheet of linen while I waited for it to dry. I felt shy in the midst of so many young women, all of whom were from Dale, though I soon shoved the feeling aside and threw myself into helping braid hair, or tie up dresses, or place ribbons at the napes of necks.

When my own hair was dry, I pulled on a clean shift and stepped into the green dress that I had worn for Yule, throwing a grateful smile to the girl that laced me up at the back. I braided my hair in an Eastern style, with three thick braids at each side and the middle of my hair that came together at the back, and for the finishing touch I slid Bard's comb into place above the knot at my neck.

"Lovely," Sigrid pronounced when I met her at the door, and we linked our arms and made our way through the corridor and into the hall. The other Sigrid was standing at the top of it, in a dress of white trimmed with lace that set off her dark brown hair and pink lips beautifully.

Sigrid and I slipped in and stood at the side of Bard, Bain and Tilda, and waited. I did not know what we were waiting for, truth be told, but I stayed quiet and still and when the crowd turned to face the large doors, I did, too, catching Bard's tender smile when I did so.

Drums and fiddles and lutes were being played outside, and when the doors were thrown open, I saw a young fair haired man shyly standing with both of his parents on either side, and in his hands was a garland of flowers. The rest of his family were clapping and singing behind him, and the musicians followed him as he walked determinedly through the middle of the hall and came to a stop before the dark haired Sigrid. He smiled at her winningly, and knelt before her, with his hand outstretched and holding his offering of flowers.

"Flowers for my beloved, who is sweeter than spring," he said loudly and clearly as she bent to lift the garland with shaking hands, and she placed it on her head like a crown. The crowd cheered, but were soon silent again when he unsheathed the sword at his hip and, still kneeling, held it out to her.

"My sword, for the woman and children that I pledge to protect."

Sigrid took the sword and held it between her hands, then gave it back to him, in an action that I had seen in weddings from places far and wide.

Her betrothed then stood and bowed his head, touched his heart with his hand and then extended it to her. "And my heart, for the woman who has captured it and shall retain it for the rest of our days."

At that, the crowd cheered wildly, and Sigrid placed her hand within his. He stepped up to join her at the top of the hall, and Percy rose to stand before them. The couple exchanged their vows, pledges of love and honour, of happiness and children, of fairness and honesty. I do not think there was one dry eye in the house, and when Percy pronounced that the two were married, even I was sniffing and wiping tears from my cheeks. I could not even feel an inch of unease when I saw Birna smiling and clapping, and her mother's eyes softening as she looked on at the couple.

The feast that followed was a feast of triumph and victory, for it was the first wedding of the children of the new Master of Laketown, and every single inhabitant of the city had been invited. Laughter rang out through the hall, and unlike Dale, people did not stay in their seats. Many held plates on their knees as they crouched beside chairs of friends, or stood holding them while they talked over each other excitedly. When the sweetmeats were brought out, they were met with a roar of approval, and I blushed when Hilda kissed both of my cheeks. I sat with Sigrid and Bard for a time, listening to them share memories of the Laketown of the past, but soon enough I was grabbed by the goodwife and, under the heat of Bard's stare, I was dragged to the back of the hall and surrounded by fishwives.

"Pretty," a fair-haired woman with a blue dress and heavy breasts decided.

"Aye, good hips," another nodded.

"Perfect size for children," my goodwife, that I now knew was called Esme, said with a wolfish grin.

"And for the hands of the man who will make them!" Another woman crowed and I covered my face with my hands in embarrassment.

"Now, now. None of that," Esme ordered and took my hand again, and soon I was seated with some of the wittiest women that I had ever met in my life. All refused to be called 'mistress' or 'goodwife', titles that I had grown up using, and instead instructed that I call them 'missus' or even 'mam'. I shook my head vehemently, but after they had watched me drink two full cups of wedding mead, brewed especially for the day, I was soon changing endlessly between laughter and awe at their tales of the old Master, and how Hilda had led the fishwives to defend the city of Dale.

"Good thing Bard was there," Esme said with a wink and an elbow to my ribs that almost sent me falling out of the chair.

"Oh aye," the women all nodded their heads in agreement. "Only man not better than Bard is our Percy. And now look at the two of 'em. Leading us into better days than we've seen in years."

"Blessed days," I put in, and my words were met with a cheer from the women and soon enough, dancing was called and the fishwives dragged me out to the middle of the hall and held onto my hands, dancing around and around with me in a dance usually reserved for pretty young maidens, but in Laketown it was performed by women of all ages.

We danced around the bride, faster and faster, until she was a blur in front of my eyes and when I was let loose and spun into the waiting arms of Bard, I collapsed upon his chest with breath that came out in gasps of laughter. He did not grant me any reprieve, and soon the both of us were whirling around the hall, his hand firmly on my waist and his mouth smiling down at me, and I thought that we just might be the only two people in the room. He kept me in his arms for three more dances, until a round of women interrupted us and demanded that he set me free lest no one else should have a turn. Bard bowed to Esme and took her in his arms, and soon both were dancing to the upbeat jig, though even when our partners took us far away from each other, I would still raise my head to see that his eyes were on me, sometimes shining with amusement, sometimes with desire, and not even the narrowed eyes of Annis was enough to stop my joyful laugh when he stole me away from one of my partners later in the night.

Sigrid and I danced together, our arms linked as we skipped along the lines of clapping women, but when we reached the end of the line and joined it, I saw her face freeze. The colour drained from her pink cheeks, and her clapping ceased, until I reached for her and pulled her to the side of the hall.

"What?" I asked her, and squeezed her hand, until she raised a finger and pointed towards the door, where a satisfied looking Annis was following a tall, dark haired man that I knew to be Bard, with a bundle of papers under her arm.

"Oh. _Oh._" I let out a hiss of anger and grabbed her arm, then stormed after them.

* * *

"I thought you should know, my lord," Annis simpered and I rolled my eyes in the shadows beside the hall. "It is most unseemly, it is not befitting of a princess to be acting in such a way. Poor Sigrid has been grossly led astray."

My head snapped up at that, and Sigrid turned to me. "What?" she mouthed. "What is she talking about? Led astray?"

I shook my head and turned back to the scene in front of us. Annis was standing with Bard outside of the hall, and he had Fili's letters in his hand. He was staring at them unseeingly; it did not seem like he had actually read a word. Annis had led him outside, and we had arrived in the shadows just in time to hear her say she had grave fears for the welfare of his daughter, and that as a mother herself, she felt it was her duty to inform him.

"So, you see," Annis continued, her voice thin and sweet, "your confectioner has allowed all of these meetings, she has been encouraging them."

I felt my jaw fall open, almost on its own volition, and Sigrid's comforting hand on my arm felt cold and clammy. Bard's face darkened at the woman's words, and he leant against the side of whatever building it was that they were standing beside. I heard him sigh, as if he was exhausted. Annis, the _bicce_, beamed but her expression quickly became concerned again, and she reached towards the letters and pulled out the last in the bundle.

"One of the letters even says that she-"

"My lady," Bard finally opened his mouth to speak, and even a few feet away, Sigrid and I heard that the words were pronounced through gritted teeth. "Have you shared these letters with anyone else?"

"Oh no, my lord," Annis said vehemently. "Of course not."

"And yet you read them?"

Annis cleared her throat and looked around them, then stepped closer to Bard. "Only to see what they were. A maid brought them to me, she was so very worried."

"When did the maid bring them to you?" Bard asked next, his words sounding measured and very, very restrained.

"Three days ago, sire."

Three days. I counted back in my head, and matched the day with the one that Bard had mentioned when we had walked to my bedroom to make sure that nothing of my own was missing. I realized that Annis had inadvertently just presented herself as the culprit.

"And how did you come about the letters?" Bard said curiously.

"A maid, sire, just as I said. She came to me."

"A maid? Which maid?"

We watched as Annis' hands knotted together and she shifted on her feet, the movement looking awkward and nervous. She mumbled a name that we could not hear, and Bard's eyebrows rose.

"Really? She has been in our service for years. Did you know that Aedre herself trained her?"

Annis stepped back and shook her head mutely.

"Did she give them to you, or to Birna?"

"Birna, my lord," she said quickly and Bard rubbed his forehead.

"Liar," he named her with a growl. "You are a liar, mistress Annis. You lie, because Birna came to me herself last year to apologise for her words against Tilda. She told me _you _told her to say them. What do you say to that?"

Annis was silent and staring at her feet. I looked to Sigrid, who shook her head. Neither of us had known that Birna had ever done such a thing.

"So," Bard continued, "you blaming your innocent daughter is the work of a fool. You are a fool to think I would see these letters and believe the words you are telling me. And before you continue-" he said with a raised hand, as Annis opened her mouth to protest, "the letters between a betrothed husband and a betrothed wife are their own property, and I shall not read them. I am greatly angered that _you _have read their private words to each other, and you can have faith that I will make my displeasure known, in such a way that you can no longer spread your ill will to Birna, me or mine."

Sigrid had gone rigid beside me as soon as the words 'betrothed' came out of Bard's mouth, and I felt her pulse racing under the grip I had on her hand.

"Oh," I dragged her back into the hall, away from the stern words Bard was still giving Annis. "I love him. I love him. Sigrid, I love your father," I cried and flung my arms around her. "And I love you, and Tilda, and Bain, and your betrothed!"

Sigrid and I began jumping together, the ale pooling in our bellies until we were both clapping and holding onto each other, and I was beyond thankful that the rest of the inhabitants of the hall were so well into their cups that no one even noticed a thing.

And then I had an idea.

"Sigrid!" I hissed into her ear when we had danced around the hall once. I whispered the rest of my plan to her, and when she cried with joy and clapped her hands, I knew I had her approval and I ran out of the hall with my skirts hitched high, until I reached my room. I grabbed what I would need for the journey and quickly pulled off my dress and changed back into my riding outfit, before sprinting around the back of the hall and out onto the wooden planks, where I found Brand and told him to lead me to the stables.

"The stables? At this time of night? Where are you going, missus Anne?" Brand asked me shyly as I saddled Edelind and eyed the road ahead, noting with joy that it was well lit, all the way to Dale.

"I've a plan, Master Brand," I said with a grin, "and I'm off to put it into action."

"But where are you _going?_" he pressed, and I knew that he would not step aside until I told him. I squeezed his hand, and made a mental note to visit his mother when I eventually returned.

"Dorwinion, Master Brand. I am going to Dorwinion."

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.

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* * *

A/N

My apologies for not responding to reviews here, but my laptop is in such a bad state that the screen is half gone, so please know that as always, I appreciate every single review, and I am so glad to read them!

I wonder what Anne is up to?


	22. Chapter 22

The journey from Dale to Dorwinion is relatively simple, depending on the road – or lack of – that a traveller chooses. The easiest option is by water: cast the boat off in Laketown, or off the shores near Mirkwood, if that was the trader's last destination. Row until the Lonely Mountain is a speck in the distance, and row some more. The Lake is kind, it can carry the traveller well for four days of sailing, and his arms will only be slightly taxed once he arrives to the part of the Lake that is gathered together, until there is only room for ten small boats abreast to sail through the gap between the two shores. Both shores are covered in trees with trunks that are thick and hearty, and their green leaves are healthy and reach over, sometimes falling with the wind until they almost cover the water below. This space, tiny compared to the vastness of the earth, is the change from the Long Lake, to the Sea that feeds it.

When the men row the traveller's boat through this gate of trees, the traveller will look about him and see a wide expanse of water; so wide that he cannot see the shores. He will be as if a speck in the true oceans off the coast of Dol Amroth, or on the waters that the Elves depart from, called to their final homes. But still, as ever, the Sea is kind. It will carry the traveller and depending on the time of day, the tide will take him far, far to the left of the water, when he will suddenly glimpse the shore in the distance. It is a glimpse of Dorwinion; only a glimpse, for the first village is set away from the shores, and the rest are even further back in the rolling, vineyard covered hills. Even the Lord's home in the centre of Dorwinion cannot be seen from the water; if a traveller did not know he was in the beginnings of a great and beautiful land, he would simply row by.

The shore is filled with rocks that are silky smooth from lifetimes of water brushing the coarseness away, and the most gentle waves lap upon the land. The traveller will see a smattering of houses that are set widely apart, some placed close to the shoreline and surrounded by olive groves and orange trees, and others set far back, perched on the beginnings of the rolling hills. The seventh house that he will come to is set close to the water – it is a small, grey coloured stone house with three rooms; two for sleeping and one for living. There is a wooden porch outside – not covering the ground, for the grass after the rocks extends right to the dark, cedar wooddoor, the fine wood a gift from the Lord after my father's death – but built to lean out from the roof to provide a shelter for any waiting for a response to their hailing, or for the inhabitants to sit on the old stone bench near the door and watch the water, with an orange in one hand and a small glass hose of a water pipe in another. I truly thought that the water pipe would still be there, until I arrived and realised that it wasn't; it had become such a fixture of the home over the years, the little blue glass pipe, used so often by my mother that it was kept in a box next to the front door.

But that was not the way that I chose. My decision was made quickly for me, when I galloped back up the hill towards Dale, away from the lights and sounds of merriment that I could still hear from Laketown. They only faded when I was merely feet away from the gates of Dale. I did not slow Edelind's pace – we thundered up the dark and empty streets until finally, both sweating, we reached the royal house. I did not wake up a stable lad to help me, for there was no sense in that, and I spent an hour walking Edelind and brushing her down, until her breath slowed and she was settled enough to stay in for the night. Only then did I hurry into the royal house, ignoring the curious looks of the guards, and headed straight for my bedroom. Once inside the tiny room, I shoved dresses and shifts into another pack, along with two small books of poetry and other personal items that I would need for the journey: an old comb for my hair, spare leather bands to tie it back, an extra riding tunic and leggings and finally, an old black scarf that was now near threadbare, and would serve to protect me in case the road demanded I change from a tradeswoman into a Goodwife. I did not believe that I would face any dangers, for I knew that groups of trades regularly departed on the road to Dorwinion, but I was not foolish enough to make the distance by road and not be prepared.

I barely slept a wink that night, and when the dawn approached I was fast out of bed and into the washrooms. I changed back into my riding outfit and rubbed my hair until it was only slightly damp, then braided it tightly in an Eastern style; two braids that were tied off not by a black leather band, but by red ribbons. I fastened my black cloak at my shoulders, and took one last, long look at my room. My finger touched Bard's comb of silver that was now safely tucked into a pouch at my waist, and when I felt the burst of warming strength that it gave me, I shouldered both of my packs and jogged back through the corridors, out the side door to the kitchen garden, then down the stone path and into the stables.

There were already a handful of travellers huddled in a corner and by their accents, I knew them to be of Dorwinion. We speak Westron with a strange mix of sounds; some of us roll our 'r's, if both parents hail from the East, but most, like myself, simply place a heavy stress onto the consonants, and stretch out the vowels. My mother would say Bard exotically - roll her tongue on the 'r' and barely say the 'd'. I, and the travellers conversing in front of me said the B heavily, the "arrr" lengthily, and the "d" like a halting stop, a firm stop. Privately, I felt that such a pronounciation was far more suited to a man whose name meant battle-axe, though Bard seemed to only find it endearing.

I cleared my throat behind the traveller whose cloak looked to be the finest and when he turned around, I came face to face with the man from the markets, who had waved away my payment for the dried herbs I'd selected with a pleasing, honest smile. I was nervous in front of the handsome trader, for I knew that he could have taken one look at my black eyes and braids and refuse to have me join him, for his honour and mine, for Eastern women do not travel alone in groups and there was no doubt that we both had the same mix of blood in our bodies. But he merely shrugged and held out a welcoming hand towards the rest of the group, his tanned face changing from that of a man Bard's age, to a younger man as he delighted in introducing me to the rest of the group, which to my relief turned out to be a mixture of men and women.

"But are you running away?" Rustam the trader, named after a prince in one of Tilda's favourite stories, asked me when we had all mounted and began to urge our horses down the hill. "I won't take a runaway. They'll be looking for you, and it'll hurt our reputation."

"_Cheh?_ What_?_" I waved the words away, free for the first time to revert to the gestures I had grown up with. "From what? I am not running away from anything. I am running _to _something."

"And what is that, _azizam?_" Rustam's sister asked me from astride her black stallion behind us. _Azizam_ meant my dear**, **something that my mother used to call me, and the tightness in my chest made me take a long while to answer her.

"I need more tools, _khanom _Zohreh," I replied with a smile, naming the second reason that I had decided to make the trip. Zohreh was a beautiful woman; her hair was shiny and black, her golden skin only slightly wrinkled at her eyes, though she was at least a head shorter than me and a decade older. "I need more of my tools, and I did not think there was a time between than the twelve days of New Year to make the journey, _na_?"

Khanom Zohreh, Mistress Zohreh, chuckled and shrugged her shoulders, her palms cupped together. "You know as well as I do that the better time would have been on New Yearitself. Surely your mother will have missed you?"

She meant the festival that marked the first day of spring in the calendar of the Eastlands; the day we marked as the New Year. I had celebrated it quietly in my home in Dale, though Zohreh was correct; I had not visited my mother.

"_Bale_, she will have missed me, though it is proper that I am visited this year," I answered her with honesty, referring to the thirteenth day of the festival, the last day, where family and friends pay visits to one another. The household that has lost someone is always visited first, and I would be arriving just in time to be the one at home to receive the visitors.

Zohreh was silent for a long moment, and finally it was Rustam that spoke up. "_Bebakhshid. _I am sorry," he said simply, and when I turned to examine his face, I met his downturned mouth and sorrowful eyes. "We lost our father last year. We, too, are returning for the New Year visitors."

We rode for the rest of the day in silence, stopping only to rest at a small alehouse on the edge of Dale's farmlands. I drank the cooled honeyed mead eagerly, trying to let my thoughts stay with the journey, but always I found my mind wandering back to Bard. By now, Sigrid would have told him of my departure and he would be back in Dale. What would he be doing? I took another sip of the calming drink when I thought that perhaps he would be displeased at the suddenness of my decision, but I hoped that when I explained and showed him my reason, he would welcome me into his warm arms that I was already missing greatly. We stayed that night at an inn, and though I was asked, I did not go downstairs to break my bread with the rest of the group. Instead I ate the salted meat and bread in my room, still lost in thought, and savoured the stillness of the warm spring night.

The rest of the days passed in much the same manner, and I was glad for it. The group was never anything but kind to me, but I felt in the pit of my stomach that I would not make this journey again for many years. I memorised each turning of the road, long carved out of the grass by the wheels of the wagons, such as the one used by this very group. The rocky terrain of the mountain that Dale was perched on soon made way for green farmlands, and the farmlands stretched on for three days. Each village we passed through would have youths that stopped by the roads, accustomed to traders, and cried out for us to try their fresh new cheese, and butter that had only just been churned. We did not stop, though I often found myself pressing coins into the palms of laughing little girls, and receiving a bundle of fruit in return.

On the fourth day, the lands around us began to change. The grass transformed from green to gold, and the flat earth slowly stretched itself into rolling hills. I smiled when I saw the first few orchards; olive trees and pomegranate trees, and when we rode over the last hill on the morning of the fifth day, I dismounted and cupped a hand over my eyes to better take in the sight before me. The land went on and on, with golden stoned houses with flat red roofs interspersed every now and again, settled amidst endless rows of vines.

"What do you think?" Rustam asked from atop his own horse. "You are home."

"Almost." I nodded and smiled, then hauled myself up into the saddle again. "My home is a day's ride from here, on the shores of the sea. Where are you going?"

Rustam waved a hand back towards the wagon. "First, to the Lord's house. Then my sister and I will decide if we wish to return home for the visitors, or continue travelling."

"Continue travelling?" I asked curiously. "Where would you go?"

"To Rhûn, of course," he said matter-of-factly. I turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Why? Are you not bound by your duty to the Lord?"

Rustam shrugged and smiled easily. "I might wear the vine on the clasp of my cloak, but I belong to no man. It is a simple life, an enjoyable life," he said, with a sideways look at me. "There is something to be said for living in such a way that Kings and Lords cannot reach you."

"Kings can always reach you, else they would not be Kings," I replied honestly, though I was thinking more of the way that the feel of Bard's hands around my own was still imprinted in my mind, as if he was holding my hand even now.

"Oh, but you can be so plain as to not call any attention to yourself," Rustam answered. "You can be so plain as to have your own little house among the vines, and grow your own oranges and pomegranates, and eat with the oil that you have pressed yourself. It is a tempting life, is it not?"

I found that I had no answer, for before I had met Bard that was the life I had envisioned for myself. That was the life I had wanted; self sufficiency, with a man with a kind, open face. I looked down at the reins as I thought that it would have been a man that looked rather like the one riding beside me now.

"I will ride with you to your lands," Rustam decided. "It is not too far for us, and I should like to see you return safely."

I nodded and thanked him, for I had been expecting the offer. It was a matter of honour for an Eastern man to treat a woman in such a way, though I knew that even Bard would have done the same.

We rode until the sun began to set, heading towards where the air was heavier with humidity from the water. I had to stop twice to admire the view in front of me, when the skies changed from pink to a blazing orange, and when we reached the last hill, I could not stay in the saddle.

"Here?" Rustam asked and dismounted, until we were both standing just before the crest of the hill.

"Aye," I said breathlessly and turned to face him. "_Mamnoon_, thank you. A thousand times over."

Rustam ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair. "It is nothing for you. You know that it is nothing," he said quietly. I stepped back and smiled politely.

"Thank you, all the same."

"_Khodahafez, azizam. _Farewell," he said with a small smile and touched the back of my hand with his palm. I nodded, suddenly feeling my throat swell with an uncomfortable thickness as I watched him stride back towards his horse and the wagon. He mounted and raised his hand to me once, then did not look back – and neither did I.

I turned as soon as he had urged the group forward with a shout, and took a deep breath. I did not yet walk over the crest of the hill; instead I looked around me and cast a critical eye over the lands. They were still tended well, and I knew that my neighbours would still be living in their home that was on the side of the hill to my right. I closed my eyes and smiled when I heard the familiar buzz of the fireflies, then made the last final steps to stand at the top, and looked on at my home.

Nothing had changed. The small valley opened up beneath me as it always did, and the Sea was an endless dark mass beyond the shore. The vines and fruit trees were as I had left them – they had been managed and cut when needed, and no fallen fruit was left on the ground. I began to walk down the rough lane, one hand leading Edelind and the other with a finger in the air as I counted each tree. All were there: olives, oranges, pomegranates, apples, lemons. The air smelled the same as I remembered, of the sweet tangy smell of fruit and the heady scent of herbs in the garden closer to my home. The Sea glinted in the light of the moon below me, and the little stone house that was now mine was visible to me with every second step, as I caught glimpses of it with every movement of a branch in the wind. It was nestled within the trees and barely visible from the road, though I knew that from the front, the land was bare until it met the Sea.

My mother's land had two houses on it; one at the front on the shore, where we lived together. The other was an identical, three roomed home in the same stone style. It was set in such a way that one could not walk down the lane to our home without walking past this little house, like a guardhouse, in a way.

I stopped a few feet away from the house, noting that its windows were glowing from a fire inside. The area was well lit, as lanterns were aflame on the porch, and had been hung onto branches at regular intervals down the lane from this house to mine. I avoided taking a closer look at the darker building that was my own, and instead opened my mouth.

"Hulloa! Hulloa! A visitor!" I called out cheerfully.

At once, there was a set of raised voices from inside the home, and soon the door was opened and a tall and gangly boy jumped out.

"Who are you?" he said sternly into the air, for he could not see my face that was well hidden by the hood of my cloak. "These are the lands of a great lady in the court of Dale and not for visitors, nor anyone other than me and my own. Who are you?"

I looked at his determined, tanned face and dark brown hair. His eyes, that I knew to be blue, narrowed in suspicion until I laughed and pulled down my hood.

"Do you not know me, Alvar? Do you not know your own cousin? Do you not know your own Anne?"

"It cannot be!" he cried and no sooner than the words were out of his mouth, the door burst open and the largest man, bar Beorn, that I would ever see in my life filled the frame.

"Anne!" the man bellowed and rushed towards me, his short brown beard tickling my cheek when he caught me up in an embrace. "Anne!" he repeated, and held me back and examined me, his brown eyes and serious face checking me over. He was at least a head and a half taller than me, and tanned from long hours in the sun. In turn, I looked at him, and took in the new dustings of grey in the dark brown hair that was slightly longer, now to his chin, and the new lines around his mouth.

"Uncle!" I grinned like a satisfied cat. "I have come to visit, if you'll have me."

"If we'll have you!" My uncle Iohan turned to Alvar and barked an order for him to run down and light the fire in my home. "If we'll have you!" he repeated with an incredulous shake of his head. "I've been waiting for you for one year. One year, girl!"

I shrugged my shoulders and held my palms up in a show of innocence. "I have been bus-"

"Don't you tell me you've been busy! Bah!" he boomed. "You could've got on a boat and come down here at any moment. I know you - when you want to, you'll do it. You're here now, after all! But I don't want to know. I don't want to know why you haven't come. I want to see you in your home, walking across the threshold. Come, come! The fire's lit now. Walk quicker! Move your legs! Do they not let you walk in the city?"

I ran along beside his bounding strides and giggled like a country girl, like the niece he had held when I was six summers and had tripped and fallen down the hill to our home. He was my father's brother, and he had lived with us for as long as I could remember; my uncle told me when my mother died that he had made a promise to my father to take care of us, and for years he had lived in the small house with his wife, until she died ten summers before my mother left the world.

"Look," he commanded gently and took a hold of my shoulders outside of the front door to my home. I smiled widely and bit my lip in excitement. "Even the house missed you. We have kept it well, but it needs a woman's touch. It needs your touch. I said I didn't want to know, but I want to know now. Why haven't you come to us?"

We walked together into my little house, the fire already roaring and Alvar standing with a beaming grin beside it. The same two chairs were in front of the fire, with a small bench in between them. The same bookcases lined the walls, with more volumes that I had left behind. The floor was bare, for I had taken the rich, red carpet, but the same charcoal drawings still hung on the walls. When I turned, I saw that the only tapestry my mother owned was still in its pride of place, on the wall beside the front door. It was a depiction of the harvest of the year I was born, of sweet fruit and golden bowls of wheat. The doors to the two bedrooms were open, and I knew that they would still look exactly the same; simple wooden furniture, thin rugs on the floor.

Alvar ducked out of the door, and we heard his footsteps disappearing back to his home.

"For linen," Iohan explained and sat down in one of the chairs with a grin. "Turn out your horse, and tell me everything."

And so I did. Edelind bucked and rolled around in the warm soft grass of our paddock and as soon as I had finished tending to her, I went back into my home and joined Iohan and Alvar, now sitting on the floor after having laid fresh sheets onto my bed. A small jug of water with sprigs of basil had been set on the kitchen bench. Wine, salted cheese and bread baked with garlic and herbs were on the small table and I ate greedily, sighing with pleasure when the meal was finished.

"Enough? Are they not feeding you in Dale?" Iohan grinned wickedly and I patted my stomach, too full to care about politeness in front of my only family.

"It doesn't taste the same. Nothing will ever taste as good as this," I answered with a beaming smile. "How could anything taste as good as this?"

"_Shakh dar ahvordam! _I don't believe you._" _My uncle slapped his thigh. I shook my head and grinned at the familiar phrase - Iohan did not have one inch of Eastern blood in his body, but thirty years of living beside my mother had turned him into a man that spoke as fluently as I.

"Now, tell me. Tell me why you have come home," he said gently and leaned forward to gather my hands together in his large grasp. I smiled shyly, and began to tell the story of my year in Dale.

My uncle's face did not change once throughout my tale. His eyes stayed on mine, even as I blushed with nerves when I revealed that a man was courting me; I did not reveal that the man was the very King of the city, but nonetheless Iohan scowled at the end.

"I haven't forgotten the horse boy," he muttered and crossed his thick arms over his chest. "How do you know this man is any better? How do _I _know he is any better?"

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled helplessly. "He is better," I said firmly. "He is."

"He has been courting you? Properly?"

"Aye," I said with a nod, tactfully choosing not to mention the bruising kisses I received almost daily.

"And he's a widower, you say? With children?"

I nodded again. "Why?" I asked curiously.

Iohan took a sip of his wine and tore off a piece of the bread. "He's done it all before. You haven't."

His statement fell out into the air between us and I grimaced. "Through no fault of my ow-"

"Bah!" Iohan shook his head. "You could have married a boy from the village, if you wanted. You could have stayed with us – it would have been an easier road for you. And now you are telling me that there's a man with children, who wants the girl who is as good as my own."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he waved a large hand and I pressed my lips together.

"You've never had children," he continued, "and he has three. He's had ten years of living with no one else but them; I'll wager that he loves them more than anything on this green earth, _na?_"

"Aye," I nodded with a small smile, and much to my relief, Iohan grinned.

"Good, then. Measure his worth by how he treats his children. And measure _yours _by how _you _treat them."

I looked up in confusion. "_Cheh? _I don't understand."

Iohan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I chose to love you, all those years ago," he said bluntly. "And by choosing to love you, I placed you beside my son," he tapped Alvar's shoulder, "as good as my own daughter, and my life is all the richer for it. If you are to marry this man, if he is as good as you say he is, then you must choose to love his children. Even if you never have your own, you must love them."

I swallowed thickly and rubbed my forehead. "I do not like being away from them. Truly, I have made this journey not just for this man, but his children, too."

Iohan nodded, his expression carefully blank. "Is he good enough? _Vaghean? _Really?"

I could not stop the grin from curving over my lips. "Really."

"I won't believe it until I see it," Iohan grumbled. "The horse boy has ruined all others for me. I won't bless any union of yours unless a man comes to my doorstep with the coins all on his own."

"Uncle, it is a long way from Gondor to here, we don't know what may have happened to-"

"It is not a long way! This is our world. The village is an hour's walk from here; Dale is a few days ride, Rhûn a fortnight, Gondor a fortnight on top of that. We are as fast as our horses or legs. For a man that claimed to love his horse like family, he would have known how quickly his mount could have brought him to you. He could have come. He _should _have come."

I stayed silent and stared into my wine, until he heaved a great sigh and stood. "Now look," he said softly. "I've upset you, and you haven't even slept in your own bed yet. Forgive me, daughter of mine."

I raised my head and smiled. "There is nothing to forgive," I said and when he opened his arms, I went readily into his embrace and laid my head against the warm chest that had comforted me endlessly over the years.

"Go on, then," he patted my head. "Get you to bed. You can receive the visitors tomorrow, and stay a little while after that."

I already knew that I would stay as much as I could, and so I grinned and nodded obediently.

"And you can tell me more about your suitor in the morning," he threw over his shoulder as he walked out the door, and I heard his laughter all the way from my own home to his.

* * *

I trailed my hand through the long grass, letting my fingers catch against the blades. The walk to the village took almost an hour, but I doubled it as I slowly dawdled across the fields and through the edges of the vineyards. The early morning sun was not yet high in the sky, casting the lands around me with a golden tint.

I had been in Dorwinion for seven days – three days longer than I had initially planned for, and my walk into the village was with the intention of finding a messenger to take a short letter to Sigrid, to explain that I would return in a fortnight. I found that I was not in a hurry to leave my childhood home; the beauty of my village in the springtime was near intoxicating, and only a well seasoned traveller could pass such a charming place and not stop to eat the fresh cream and warm bread. I found a young man in the alehouse who was on his way to Dale, and took my letter with him as soon as he had finished his sweet mead and bread, flicking the coin that I gave him in the air with an impish grin.

I stayed long enough in the village to knock up the baker and tuck his first loaves of the morning in a loose bag of cloth under my arm, and slowly made my way back along the road, until it came to a halt and I again crossed through the fields. Coloured lanterns were still strung up from the New Year celebrations, and every now and again I would come across piles of ants that were devouring tiny specks of sugar or honey that would have dropped from eager fingers during the outdoor feasts.

I stopped when I found the large oak tree that marked the half way point from the village to my little home by the sea. For a long while, I sat with my back against the trunk, and thought. I thought of Bard, mostly, and his children. Would they welcome my intentions, when I returned to Dale and told them of my plans? Would Bard accept the gift that I had ordered from the jeweller in the village? My gift now sat with the engraver, a stout old man who beamed when he saw what he was to work on, and I had found myself brushing off a group of women that descended on me, searching for news and gossip.

Not for the first time, I found myself pondering on my Uncle's advice: that I should only join myself with a man if I could love his children. I stared at the branches that extended far over my head; did I love Sigrid? Bain? Tilda? The question seemed almost ridiculous to me, as I knew that I did. But could I love them as a mother might love her own? I knew that I could not, for I had never been a mother, never had the honour of little fingers curling around my own, or a tiny rosebud mouth searching for my breast. But I would try – I would try, until I knew how.

I stood and brushed the grass from my skirt and smiled into the sun. I walked three times around the oak in one way, then three times in the other. When I finished, I reached up and took one of the leaves, then folded it up and tucked it into a pouch on the belt of my plain brown dress. I had only one wish: Bard.

I sighed and made my way again through the long grass, past the vineyards, and through the orchards. Even the pounding feet coming my way was not enough to drag me out of my thoughts, so pleasurable were they, but the shouting soon did.

"Anne!" Alvar called, his figure tiny in the distance, but growing ever larger as he ran towards me. "Anne!"

I tucked the bread firmly under my arm and took off in his direction, waving my arm. "Here, here! What?"

"Anne," he heaved when we finally reached each other, and he held onto my arms to steady himself. "It's Da."

"Da?" My mouth went dry and I dragged him back up, pulling him behind me as we stumbled towards my home. "Your da? Uncle? What about him? Tell me!"

"He's going to kill him!" Alvar finally choked out as we ran, and I whipped my head around and came to a sudden stop.

"_Cheh?_" I waved my hands in front of his face. "Who?"

"I don't know. A man came to our house, and refused to clear off when Uncle told him they were your lands, not for visitors, only for m-"

"I know the words," I said hurriedly. "Quickly now, who is it?"

"I can't remember his name, he had the strangest sounding accent. All lilting like. I could barely understand a word."

The words fell like rocks over my head, and my heart began to race. "What does he look like?" I demanded and curled my fingers around his arm. "Tall?"

"Might have bee-"

"No time for that, Alvar," I shouted and grabbed his hand again. "Quick!"

We ran on and on, until our foreheads were shining and I could not tell if the bread under my arm was still warm from the oven or from being tucked beside my boiling body. We cut through the vineyards, dodging the stakes the vines were twisted around, and bolted over the roads, Alvar having to shout out a rushed apology to a farmer when we sprinted through the flock of sheep he was herding.

I thought we would never come to the last little hill, but we did. We scrambled up it together, hand in hand, stopping at the sound of raised voices coming from the other side.

"Still alive, then," Alvar muttered and I laughed - whether in amazement or disbelief, I could not say. For before us, standing with his back to us was a tall man, arguing with my uncle, with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. I would know the familiar set of broad shoulders from anywhere – I would have been able to pick them out from a sea of men dressed as he was, with his nondescript clothing and dark green travelling cloak.

I found that I did not have any voice to call out his name, but my Uncle raised his head to take in our two fingers at the top of the hill, and stepped back with wide arms, an unspoken dare for the man to try his luck, for surely I would not be entertaining such company. I knew at once that Iohan had no idea who this man was - but I did.

He turned around slowly and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. I let out all of my breath and dropped Alvar's hand and the bread, because the man standing before us was not just any man, who my Uncle assumed that he was. He was not just any man. He was the man that I had never, ever expected to see standing in front of me, amidst our orchards and fields, as if he belonged there.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

More to come soon, as I've got an old computer that has been resurrected with the task of providing you all with your Bard and Anne fix. Who is going to be the one hundredth reviewer? I'm awaiting it eagerly.

Who's the man, I wonder? A Horse Lord or a Bargeman? And the advice from Anne's uncle - good or bad?

I'd love to know opinions on Dorwinion as well. Am I writing it how you thought it might look? I've based it off of a Mediterranean style, though I was mostly inspired by the beautiful Barossa Valley in South Australia. Rhûn, from the beginning of this story, has been inspired by ancient Persia, which includes the Caspian Sea, my inspiration for the Sea of Rhûn.

The language included is Farsi (Persian). I've written most meanings into the story, which I hope is a way that works well for everyone, though here are the meanings for the two that weren't translated and the rest just for kicks:

Cheh? – What?

Azizam – my dear. An endearment.

Shakh dar ahvordam_ – _I grew horns. Literally: "what on earth are you saying?"  
Khanom – mrs.

Mamnoon – thank you

Na – no.

Bale – yes.

Bebakhshid – I'm sorry.

.

Eryndil – that'll become clearer with the next chapter I hope ; )

Kaia – mine was five years old, too! Ah well. Time for a new one.

Debatable-cerealkiller – Sorry to still leave you in the dark as to her plans!

Katnor – what a wonderful thing to read. Thank you. Yes, I understand what you mean; and I am very, very honoured to read such words.

XtaticBlueSoul – more coming!


	23. Chapter 23

I found that I did not have any voice to call out his name, but my Uncle raised his head to take in our two fingers at the top of the hill, and stepped back with wide arms, an unspoken dare for the man to try his luck, for surely I would not be entertaining such company. I knew at once that Iohan had no idea who this man was - but I did.

He turned around slowly and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. I let out all of my breath and dropped Alvar's hand and the bread, because the man standing before us was not just any man, who my Uncle assumed that he was. He was not just any man. He was the man that I had never, ever expected to see standing in front of me, amidst our orchards and fields, as if he belonged there.

"No," I breathed and shook my head, then rubbed my eyes. "How…?"

A slow, blissful smile curved over his mouth, drawing my gaze to the lips that I had spent countless nights dreaming about. He took a single step towards me, until my uncle placed a warning hand on his arm.

"It's all right," I managed to choke out, and Iohan stepped back with a confused frown.

He took another step towards me, still smiling, and the pulsing heat of my heart near burned my eyes in the sun. I felt my toes curling in my boots, curling with impatience, and as soon as I realised that I _was_ impatient, I bounced on my feet and let out a peeling laugh of joy, and ran for him. I ran down the hill, my boots pounding on the lane of long flattened grass, my skirts hitched and hair flying behind me. I thought that I would stop before him, nervous all of a sudden, but Bard opened his arms with a grin and walked quickly to meet me and I crashed into him, throwing my hands around his body and burying my face into his chest. I was so happy, so exultant, that someone could have asked if my husband had come home and I would have said: 'Yes, yes, my husband is home.'

I pressed my nose against his brown, soft vest and shook my head, my forehead rubbing on the fine material.

"Are you really here?" I whispered, sighing as his arms wound around me and his lips pressed to my hair.

"Where else would I be?" Bard bent his head so his mouth was at my ear. "Are you well? Your journey – you were safe?"

"Yes and yes," I nodded and smiled, then stepped back immediately at the tense sound of my uncle clearing his throat.

"So this is him," Iohan said flatly, staring at Bard, taking in every inch. I turned, too, to look at the man that had travelled for five days on horseback just to come to this little pocket of land, far from any city, an hour from any village. Yes - this was him.

Bard looked tired. His hair had been tied completely back with a leather band, and his face was darker from his week of riding in the sun. There were shadows under his eyes, shadows that I knew came from days of rising at dawn and riding endlessly, then dropping into a strange bed and waking the next day to repeat it all again. His clothes were crumpled and his cloak was crusted with dirt at the bottom, as if he had met the soft rains of spring during the journey. But he was smiling, and triumphant.

I looked again at his tired eyes. "Are _you _well?" I pried, touching his cheek and pointedly ignoring the second clearing of my uncle's throat.

"Aye, well enough," Bard shrugged, though I did not fail to notice that his voice was hoarse.

Iohan nodded in approval at the way Bard brushed aside the suggestion that a journey may not have treated him kindly, and placed his hands on his hips.

"You're my girl's suitor, then? My daughter's suitor?" Iohan barked and Bard stood taller beside me, calm in the face of a man only twelve years his senior, treating him as if he were a shepherd lad that had come fresh from the barn to a palace.

Bard was silent for a long moment and in his silence, I wondered what he might say. Would he say that yes, he was my suitor, and he was here for my hand? I smoothed a nervous palm over my hair then, conscious of my long, wild hair and plain clothing. Or would he say that he was simply on a visit, on his way to the Lord of Dorwinion? Or would he have a speech planned? I hoped not, for my uncle was never one to be impressed by flowery words. In fact, my uncle was not one to be impressed by much at all.

In the end, Bard took a breath in and said none of those things.

"Aye," he said affably with a small smile. "I've come from Dale."

Iohan raised a bushy eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, bemused.

"You said that. Quite a journey to make," my uncle commented, still studying the face of my beloved.

"Some might say so," Bard returned mildly and Iohan grinned widely and shot me a wink, obviously pleased with the answer.

"Right, then, Bard of Dale," Iohan began and clapped his hands together, "you've not come to a simpleton's home. You can have a bath and your clothes washed, but just this once. After that you can deal with all of that yourself. I won't have any suitor for my girl who can't wash his own clothes, you hear? And watch how Anne readies the bath for you. Next time, you can do it. A man of Dale, you say?" Iohan turned back to us, having already begun the walk down to my little home.

"Aye," Bard confirmed with a short nod, ignoring my amused and bewildered smile.

"Then you'll know how to fish, I take it. Good. Anne'll get you set up, and as soon as you're done and clean, you can go and catch our dinner for the night."

I cocked an eyebrow in the direction of my uncle and rolled my eyes, but Iohan simply grinned and spread his hands.

"You're my girl," he explained with a smirk. "You don't expect me to simply hand you over, do you?"

Bard snorted with laughter and offered me his arm, though I joined our hands together instead as we walked behind Iohan. I could not pluck up the courage to ask Bard what he thought of my childhood home; instead I watched as his eyes took in the orchard with its trees of fruit, and the paddock with Edelind watching us keenly, who then stuck her head back into a bag of oats, not finding us interesting enough to ignore her food for. Beside Edelind's paddock was another, for the stallion who was ridden by both my uncle and Alvar. I noticed that Bard's mount was already there, and Alvar waved from where he was perched on the edge of the fence, keeping an eye on how the two horses were adjusting to each other.

Another paddock after that held our only cow. Bard's shoulders shook with laughter when I admitted that Alvar had named her 'Wulf', for she was a fat old girl, and constantly (and vehemently) resisted any encouragement that might have her move over wider pastures.

Lastly, we walked past the garden that was behind my home, the rich smell being enough to make Bard halt his stride and bend over the herbs.

"I've not seen half of these," he admitted with an interested smile, and I crouched in front of one of the sprawling bushes.

"You have," I countered with a nod. "But not like this. Look at this one." I tore off a leaf of mint and offered it to him in my palms, grinning when he took it and popped it into his mouth. "You have it in Dale, but tiny little leaves, barely only good for tea. The sea is fertile, and our home is right on it," I said and inclined my head to the right. "Have you seen it yet?"

"The sea?" Bard questioned then chuckled. "No, your uncle was too busy questioning my intentions. He believed them to be ill, and would not allow me to move an inch, though he did take pity on my horse."

"Speaking of my uncle," I said lowly and turned to make sure Iohan was too far to hear, then looked back at Bard. "Why does he think you're a simple man of Dale?"

"I didn't lie," Bard said easily. "I told him I was the King of Dale."

"And what did he say to that?"

"That I could be the King of my own arse, for all he cared," Bard admitted and I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to still my silent laughter.

"He didn't!" I managed to whisper when the shame had caught up to me, and my cheeks began to blaze in a red hot mark of embarrassment.

"So he has no idea, then? No idea at all?"

Bard shrugged. "It doesn't seem like he does, no. It doesn't matter, does it? Does it matter to you?"

I rolled back onto my heels and wound my arms around my knees. Emboldened by his journey to get to me, my mouth opened with an honest answer. "Better you be the farmer with a field of hops," I said, acknowledging the anxious feeling I had whenever I thought of being courted by a King. "But," I began and held up a hand when Bard's face fell, "you're not. And that's all right."

Bard took another leaf of mint and crushed it in his palm, then chewed it. He gave me a long look and as soon as he had swallowed the herb, he reached for me. I went to him eagerly, and, both on our knees in the garden, I tasted the freshness of the mint on his breath. The pressing of his lips to my own was simple and sweet, but when his hand reached up to tenderly cup my cheek, I knew that he was not intending to be so innocent.

"I've missed you," he mumbled, when we pulled away and our foreheads were bent together. "I couldn't sleep. Do not…" he trailed off, and squeezed my hands. I understood; without his company, I had taken hours to sleep and when I finally did, I had tossed and turned, uncomfortably hot in the warm spring air by the sea. More than once I had found myself sitting on the cool stone bench outside my door, staring at the gentle waves and the wide, shining light of the moon above them, wondering if Bard, too, was sleepless.

"I won't, not again," I said firmly, and took a deep breath in to gather my strength. "Bard?"

He hummed in recognition, and lightly brushed his lips over mine again.

"Bard," I whispered as his fingers followed the line from my jaw down to the collar of my dress. "If I were a nobody, and you were a nobody, would you love me?" I hurried to continue when I felt his body tense and my fingers dug into his tunic. "You have come all of this way…"

Calloused fingers cupped my chin and tilted my face up, until I was staring into brown eyes that were bright with exhilaration and nerves.

"Do you doubt me even now?" he asked softly, and I shook my head with a tentative smile. I did not doubt him; not once had I doubted him. When I thought of any possible reasons why he would not wish me for his own, none of them were because of my station in life, the trade I had chosen, the woman that I was.

"Good. If you…" he wet his lips and looked down for a moment, then met my gaze again.

"If you were a nobody, and I were a nobody, I would love you," he said honestly, and his words sent a thrill to my heart until his hand slid to the back of my neck and his other hand smoothed a thumb over my cheek. "But I am not a nobody, and you are not a nobody."

I bit my lip, and waited as his eyes travelled over my face.

"I am not a nobody, and you are not a nobody. Yet still I love you," he finished and at his words, the soft laps of the waves on the shore was like a roaring in my ears, until I felt the pooling of water in my eyes, as if the Sea of Rhun itself had come to aid me in my joy.

I saw his nervous swallow, the way he frowned as he saw my wet eyelashes, the way his lower lip quivered, and I thought that I would never know anything as sweeter than knowing that Bard loved me. No woman would ever know anything as sweet as this.

"As I love you," I replied assuredly, closing my eyes for a moment to feel the first tear splash on my cheek. I heard, rather than saw, his relieved sigh, his disbelieving then delighted laugh, followed by the kiss of his dry lips on the single line of moisture on the side of my face.

Neither of us waited any longer – when I opened my eyes, I saw the last glimpse of his satisfied smile before his mouth descended upon mine, his kiss calm and measured that I returned with equal feeling when I understood that now, we had all the time in the world to kiss, we had all the time in the world to have our mouths against each others, and taste the essence of one another. The wheel was set in motion, and even if I had the power to stop it, I would not have, for there was nothing I wanted more than the man that laughed breathlessly and tore his mouth from mine as my uncle shouted from the other side of the house, berating us for dawdling. Even as we walked hand in hand towards the front of the house and I saw how his eyes widened at the beauty of the sea, then blatantly ignored it to stare at me, I thought that there was nothing that I wanted more.

* * *

I wheeled the wooden tub out from my own bedroom and into my second, smaller room. Under the watchful eyes of my uncle and the tender gaze of Bard, I lined it with linen and turned my back on my uncle when he tutted as I folded another small piece of linen and smoothed my hands over it, readying the material to hold the weary neck of the man who had travelled five days to come to me.

Alvar and I took buckets to the sea and returned with them full, emptying them into the bath. The warm spring weather meant that the water would be pleasant and not cold, though I still wrung my hands together nervously after I had added spoonfuls of soothing oils and stirred the water with my fingers. I handed Bard a small square of sandalwood soap.

"I am sorry," I grimaced. "We do not have a fire big enough to heat all of the water at once…" I did not add that I would have heated the kettle one hundred times if it meant that he would have rested easier.

Bard shook his head and exhaled. "You have forgotten that I was born on the Lake," he said pointedly and trailed his fingers through the water. "This is warmer than anything I ever had growing up, and for many years afterwards."

Iohan shrugged his shoulders – my concerns were outlandish to him, who had spent his entire life by the sea. "The salt is good for the skin," he barked out and nodded gruffly to me, and I left Bard with a hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

"You're to stay with me," Iohan said lowly, as we walked from my home. "Unless you'd rather he do so?"

"No, no," I waved a hand in the air. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

"You ought not to," he said sternly. "I'll be watching him like a hawk. Though he doesn't seem to be one for flouting me," he admitted with a pensive look. I said nothing, and waited while he stewed on his thoughts. Iohan was a man to speak his mind as soon as the words came to him, but when it came to more serious subjects, he took his time and never said anything that he didn't wholly mean.

"You can go fishing with him," he said finally. "He's… better than I thought he might be."

I pressed my lips together, and turned to face him with a hand on his arm. "I didn't know that he would come. If I knew, I would have told you."

My uncle's hard face was instantly smooth and he wound his huge arms around me until my forehead was resting on his shoulder.

"It says more about him, _azizam. _It says more about who he is, that he would come to you, unannounced. And I am glad that he is doing the honourable thing. I can sleep easier tonight knowing that there is a man is your house that did not even blink when I challenged him. But," he said firmly with a light tap on my back, "you are still my own girl and I would not be your father's brother if I did not treat him the same as I would any other."

"Any other?" I asked with a mischievous smile. "You are speaking as if I have had a line of suitors."

Iohan shrugged his wide shoulders and released me, though he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm as we walked back up the hill towards his home. "You do not know what happened when you were gone, _azizam. _But I will say this: your man of Dale down there might just be the first that I have ever truly entertained the notion of approving."

I indulged him and laughed, then patted his arm and disentangled myself. I did not expect to see Bard for at least an hour, and so I walked over to the orchards and busied myself with inspecting the fruit, and picking any that had fallen already. Most would be best next season, in the drenching heat of summer, but the pomegranates were beautiful, as always. I split one with Alvar, and we sat on the grass with our backs to the tree, and pulled the seeds from the skin until our fingers were red and our tongues pink and coarse from the tangy mix of sweet and sour. We finished two pomegranates in this way, talking over the year that I had been away, and the lessons that a portion of my wages were regularly sent home for. Alvar was a lot like Bain, I decided, and he applied himself to each task with a vigour that his mother would have been proud of. When I spoke my thoughts, his ears blushed red, and the heat on his cheeks only dimmed when I asked if he might come with me on my walk into the village the next morning, as I had intended to get a gift for Bain and Tilda, and Alvar, it seemed, was the one who could help me best.

I did not hear his assenting answer, though, for Bard then made his way out of my little house. He was dressed in simple brown, loose trousers and a thin white tunic, belted at the waist. I smiled when I noticed his bare feet, for I had never seen him without his boots.

"Come on then, love," he said lightly and inclined his head towards the shore, and I laughed easily at the endearment. "You are my love, aren't you?" he whispered into my ear when he tucked me under his arm.

"Might be," I smiled back and ducked away from him, twisting out of his grip and darting back to the cottage. "I need to change and my clothes are here," I explained with an impish grin, and slid into the house.

My uncle Iohan had said that he would be watching Bard like a hawk – he was either not as sharp in his older years or he intentionally turned a blind eye to us, for Bard looked around him as I disappeared then strode quickly towards the house and slipped through the door behind me. I will defend myself and say that I had not thought that he would, and so he came upon me in my room in only my thinnest shift, my dress clutched to my chest as I turned when my door creaked open.

One glance at the heat of his gaze was enough for me to let the dress I had been holding fall to the floor and walk towards him, disregarding the strangled sound he made in the back of his throat. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, and when I brazenly reached up to run my hands over his shoulders, my eyes soon closed blissfully when his own hands took a firm hold of my waist and his mouth covered my own.

Not once did we move from our standing position by the door, though in those few precious moments, I learnt more than I ever had in thirty summers. I felt the numbness of pleasure as his hands moved over my skin – for the thinness of my shift was a fool's guard against the warm hands of my lover, and might as well not have been on at all – and I came to know the utter peace of standing with our bodies pressed together, both of us in threadbare clothing as our lips moved with an urgency born out of our separation. It was almost as if Bard had been a stranger to me before, as I had never felt his body in this way; the heat of his chest through his thin tunic, the line of his waist at the belt. Always I had seen or touched him with his coat, or his vest, never like this – never, ever like this.

For once, it was me that pushed my palms against his chest and held us at arm's length. I shook my head dumbly with a faint smile, and backed towards the bed, then disappeared behind the privacy screen that I had never needed until now. I could not pay any heed to the sound of his breathing as I rid myself of the shift and hung it over the screen, for I might have done away with the screen altogether. I took a deep breath and pulled on my own white tunic, and when I had stepped into my own black loose trousers, I emerged from behind the screen holding my vest and belt.

I held them out to Bard with a shy smile and at once he crossed the room and stood behind me, easing the fabric over each of my arms, then reached around and gently tied the laces at my chest. He wound the material of the belt around my waist once, twice, his slow movements punctured by warm kisses to my neck, and when he had tied it off he rested his chin on my head, and held me tightly.

"You are really here," I said softly, still barely believing it. "I thought you were an apparition when I first saw you."

"I thought _you _were one," he admitted. "I had to ask where I might find your house, and no one wished to answer me until someone obviously thought your uncle would drum sense into me, and gave me the directions."

I couldn't help it – I laughed and laughed, until we left the house and walked bare feet to the shore, both of us rolling up our trousers to the knees. The little rowboat was already there for us with the supplies we would need in a bag tucked into the back and Bard easily pushed it over the smooth rocks until it bobbed on the water.

"My lady," he gestured to it grandly. "Your vessel awaits."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

Romantic gestures abound! Shall we go fishing for bowmen?

I didn't have the word space to explain Anne's reasons behind visiting Dorwinion (yet again!) but it'll be addressed in the next chapter.

Ohthatdwarfgirl – thank you very much! I'm glad you think so, re the timing. I'll be interested to see whether you think Bard's declaration in this chapter is suitable, then ; )

Lystan – Bah to the horse man! You want Bard? Rightio, Bard for you, my dear.

Xstaticbluesoul – I've found myself enjoying them! Although, yes, I do hurry to write more when I've done one. I hope this was gentler for you hahaha.

Debatable-cerealkiller – true, true! I'll pop in some suitable chastisement for the next chapter ; )


	24. Chapter 24

On our afternoon on the sea, I learnt several new things about the man that was courting me: the first was that Bard was endlessly patient, and could stay in the same position for hours, rarely moving an inch while he watched the water. The second was that he could scale and clean a fish quicker than the time it took me to offer my assistance. The third was the most surprising, but perhaps I should have expected it: my suitor did not know how to fish.

"I _do _know how to fish," Bard said indignantly from his position at the side of the boat as he awkwardly held onto the end of the vine that was to be our line. The hook was already deep below the surface and I soon took pity on him and quickly knotted it around the second hook on the end of the boat.

"Obviously not," I shot back with a grin and repeated the process, until there were four lines in the water, the bamboo shoots tied onto them bobbing away on the surface. All were fastened to the end of the boat, away from the front that was half shaded by a clever construction of wood that left half of the boat in the light and the other with enough cover to shield us from the warm Eastern sun.

"Give me a net and I'll catch you a feast," he said slyly.

"A feast?" This time it was I that was sly, and I sidled over to him, or rather awkwardly shuffled along the boat until I fell down beside him with an ungraceful thud. "There are only four of us for tonight."

"My point exactly."

"Hmm?" I was bewildered, and Bard's pensive look did nothing to explain his words, until he shrugged.

"I've never fished for leisure." His face, when he turned to me, was thoughtful. "Only for the barge. Never for…" he waved a vague hand in the air.

"Enjoyment?" I offered with a small smile and was rewarded with a grin and a nod of his head. I hummed and chewed on my lip, trying to picture Bard on the water in the years before his Kingship. Despite his plain, seaman's clothing, I still could not see it. He seemed like he had always carried himself well, always kept his dignity and honesty about him.

"I was a bargeman not a pirate," he said wryly when I realised that I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

"Aye, but you don't _seem…_" I trailed off. "Bah," I managed instead with a scowl directed at his thumb that was lazily tracing circles on the inside of my wrist. "I can't compose my sentences if you're going to be like that all afternoon."

I had expected Bard to make a comment, something rouge-ish given how good his mood had been since his arrival, but he tapped me on the wrist instead and glowered.

"I'm not going to be like anything. At this very moment, I'm deciding whether to toss you overboard or tan your hide until you won't be able to sit in your precious saddle for a week."

"What? Me?" I squeaked and pushed myself over to the other side of the boat, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. "Whatever did I do? Nothing. You see, I'm as innocent as a… a cat!" I settled on and crossed my arms over my chest with a smirk.

Bard merely arched an eyebrow at my antics and pursed his lips. "A cat isn't innocent. Not one that looks like you, anyway."

I let out a little hiss for good measure and winked, the rather uncharacteristic, wolfish grin on my face making Bard roll his eyes.

"You took off in the middle of the night from Laketown to Dale," he said flatly. "Anyone could've had you for a meal on that road alone!"

I threw up my hands, then thought better of it, and settled them on my thighs. "I was riding."

"And then," he continued, waving away my excuse and reaching forward to tap my knee, "Sigrid tells me that you've headed off on a little bloody adventure!"

"An adventure? I have my own reasons for coming here!" I shot back. "All good ones, mind you."

Bard said nothing, and then held his arms out with open palms, waiting. I twisted my mouth and frowned.

"If you hadn't decided to come, I would've told you everything upon my return anyway. Well, half of it. Or perhaps a quarter of it. Sigrid knew the rest, didn't she tell you?"

"Ah," Bard shook his head and inched closer to me, pushing my legs until they were crossed and he was sitting right in front of me. I was distracted for a moment by how close his face was to mine, and the dark glint in his eyes that I couldn't quite place.

"See, now, my daughter told me the most interesting thing. She told me that you, the woman I've been courting, have a fancy to marry."

I spluttered and coughed, then cleared my throat, feeling a blush creep its way from my chest to my forehead. Bard's gaze did not waver once, even though by now I was staring down at my lap. I muttered incoherently, and then cleared my throat again when Bard covered my hands with his own.

"Might be right," I mumbled. "She wasn't supposed to say that part."

I had whispered the entirety of my plans to Sigrid, and the very last line that I uttered was: "and I've a fancy to marry!" Of course, that was the only thing that she felt was important enough to pass on to her father.

Bard let out a long breath and let his hands fall. "Well," he said, "who is it then?"

I looked up, shock painted on my face when I saw his glum scowl. "_What_?"

"I said-"

"I _heard _you!" I narrowed my eyes until they must have resembled slits, and grabbed his hand, trying to understand the question. "What are you going on about? 'Who is it'?"

"I've a right to know!" Bard grumbled and stood up, walking out underneath the cover to stand in the sun where he did not have to bend his head. He was too tall to fit comfortably under the wooden shade, a fact that would have pleased me if he had not misunderstood me so terribly. Though even as he stood with the darkest look on his face that I'd ever seen, the sight of him in the boat, so tall and broad amongst the flat, clear blue water, was enough to send my knees quaking with desire. I thought then that perhaps _this _was what I'd overheard being spoken about by the washerwomen and fishwives, when they said that there was naught much more delightful than taking a man fresh from an argument into one's bed-

"Anne?"

"Hmm? What? Oh." I cursed the direction that my thoughts had turned, and shook my head minutely to push myself into the rage that I should be quite right in feeling.

I jumped up and stepped over the wooden boxes and nets, my index finger aimed squarely at his chest. "A right to know _what, _hmm?"

Bard put his hands on his hips and turned to face the water, blatantly ignoring my anger. I stood behind him, my foot tapping on the wooden floor of the boat, until my patience ran out and I clucked my tongue. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath in, and then swivelled around to face me.

"A right to know who you're marrying!"

My squawk was enough to make a gull on the water nearby take off in a hurry, and Bard stepped back until his calves were against the side of the boat with his hands held up. I advanced on him, barely restraining myself from letting out a hiss of anger. The nerve of this man!

"You. Big. Oaf!" I growled, each word punctured by a jab to his chest. "Who do you bloody well think you are? Have you any idea of what you're saying?"

"Oh, aye," Bard said firmly and squared his shoulders. "I think I do! You let me be all sweet on you, love and all, and all the while you're planning to come out here and marry!"

If I would have been a younger woman, I might have screamed and stamped my foot. As it was, that wasn't enough.

"You are a lunk head of a man, then! A bloody beardless, brutish lunk head of a man, that is!"

Bard's mouth twitched at the corner. "Lunk head? And I have a beard." He raised a hand to his face to touch the dark neat hair under his mouth and neck as if to reassure himself.

"Oh aye," I said, echoing his former words and too angry to pay attention to his mouth that was now firmly shut above his shaking shoulders. "I should've brought an orc out here instead, it would've been better bloody company. 'Planning to marry' indeed!"

"Well, aren't you?" he pressed, taking a hold of my hand. "Be honest, now."

I ran a hand over my hair, pulling on the end of the long plait to try and work out my frustration. "You are impossible."

Bard shrugged helplessly with a small smile. "Only slightly," he said in low voice. "So you're not…?"

"Planning to marry?" I finished his sentence and snorted with laughter when he nodded.

"You're a fool, Bard," I whispered, my eyes trained on our bare feet. He had a nice ankle for a man, I decided, and shook my head again. "Of course I've a fancy to marry. Why wouldn't I have a fancy to marry?"

"Well, yes bu-" he began and I deliberately ground my toes onto his foot, enjoying his wince.

"Who would I be planning to marry, then? Hmm? Who? Can you name another one of my suitors? Or perhaps you've seen me head off with another man for walks in the garden? Has there been anyone else kissing me? Has anyone else dared to approach me after you kissed me in front of the entire city?"

He had the good grace to look suitably chastened, though the expression was quickly chased away by a victorious smirk that wouldn't have looked out of place on Fili. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as his smirk grew wider and his shoulders grew broader as he held himself taller; he looked like the cat lapping up the cream. At any other time, I would have appreciated the sight, perhaps even laughed a bit, but I could easily predict the next words that were due to come out of his delectable lips.

"Might you have a fancy to marry m-"

"No!" I stomped on his foot properly. "No, no, no. Don't you say it."

Bard held his hands up again and made to move back, his movement forcing me to grab his shoulders so he wouldn't topple into the water. "Say what?"

"Whether I have a fancy to marry you or not is my own business," I said with a brusque nod. "And I won't have you finding out like this. If ever you want to know, you can bloody well ask me like a normal man would!"

Bard opened his mouth, to say what I had no clue, but I shook my head. "Sit down."

He sat immediately, his rear end thumping onto the wood and I allowed myself a small grin when he let out a breath in discomfort. In contrast, I folded my limbs down slowly and sat myself on his lap, twisting until my back was against his chest. Try as I might, there was no hope for me in sitting any further away – my legs would not have carried me even an inch further.

"Would you like to know what I'm doing here?" I asked, desperately trying to keep my wits as he moved my plait to the side and kissed the bare skin at my neck.

"Yes please," he said mildly and I tilted my head back to smile at his submissiveness, and then let out a strangled sound of surprise when he pressed a kiss to my mouth. "Sorry," he grinned. "Go on." Perhaps I wasn't the only one struggling with the residual heat from our misunderstanding.

"And don't you interrupt until I'm finished," I warned, a small giggle escaping as his mouth moved to my ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I tried to think through the fog of longing that had settled over my body, though I was finding it increasingly difficult. It felt ridiculous that he had such an effect on me – that we could go from an argument where I wanted to serve his rear end to Hilda on a platter so she could slap some sense into him, to sitting so close to his body that it was driving me mad. I barely understood _why _the feel of him behind me was enough to have me muddling my thoughts until they resembled badly made custard, but it did, all the same. I decided to settle back against him anyway; if I was going to be a masochistic ball of desire with no way to sate myself, I was going to enjoy it.

"I need an apprentice," I said plainly, once I had managed to assemble my thoughts into a vague sense of order.

"Oh?" was his muffled reply, causing me to shiver when his tongue traced the curve of my ear.

I gave up, then, and moved my head to the side, offering him easier access to my skin. "Yes, I do," I said between sighs. "And all of the things that mother used to teach me are still here. Simple… simple things, easy to learn with," I whispered as my eyes closed when his hands began to move over my stomach. "And I thought that Birna might be the girl for it."

At once his ministrations stopped and I knew without a doubt that his head would have been cocked to the side in thought. "Birna? Wouldn't you throttle her?"

I chuckled and let my hands fall onto his thighs, absentmindedly rubbing my thumb against the muscle. "I might do, but Bain thinks well of her, in case you haven't noticed."

He made a sound in the back of his throat and leaned his head against the side of the boat. "I have."

"Anyway, he's not of an age to do something about it, and she's still a witch of a thing. It'd be a good few years before Bain plucks up the courage to- excuse me!" I swatted the hand that pinched my side.

"That's my son you're talking about," Bard grumbled, punctuating his words with another light press to my ribs.

"Like father, like son," I said pointedly and squeezed his leg. "Anyway, a couple of years in the kitchen will set her straight. And it's a trade, not a serving position, so she'll have something to say for herself, something to work towards. She could go anywhere – even if Bain meets another woman he likes more, which I'll hope and pray for, she can find well paid, respectable work anywhere with a court. I was planning on taking back all of the tools I have here, and some of my mother's more basic recipes that I've half forgotten now."

Bard shook his head. "I think you'll throttle her, all the same. She's a piece of work, Anne. You might let her go after one day."

"I might… But if Bain has somewhat of a good opinion of her, then surely there's something there. Though her mother I _will_ throttle," I said with a scowl and leaned further back into his chest. "She's something else."

"She needs to marry," Bard said resolutely.

"Find someone to put up with her first," I shot back and turned my head around to see him better. "Who would marry her?"

Bard blew out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. But a firm hand will do her good."

"A firm hand?" My lip curled with repugnance. "I wouldn't have thought that you, of all people-"

"Not as in an actual hand," Bard chuckled and linked his hands together over my lap. "She needs to be accountable to someone. For someone to tell her when to rein it in, so to speak. Guidance would be a better word. And she needs it all of the time, day in, day out. She needs security, too. She's been in poverty for too long."

"Send her to Hilda," I said automatically, and slapped my thigh with a hoot of laughter as I imagined the wife of the Master of Laketown taking on the task of 'guiding' Annis.

"To Hilda? What was it I heard her calling Annis during the wedding…"

"The _bicce _of Barad-Dûr," I supplied, unable to stop myself from clapping my hands with glee.

"You two worry me," Bard commented dryly, though his half hearted reprimand was complimented by the return of his mouth to my neck.

"_You _worry me," I replied honestly. "A few little words from Sigrid and you came all the way here? You couldn't wait?"

Bard nipped my neck with his teeth in response and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to know."

"You wanted to know so much that you rode for five days?"

"Four," he countered, with such a proud tone to his voice that I couldn't help wriggling against him.

"Four days," I said coquettishly, turning so he could see my eyelashes batting. "Four days. My, my. What a fine horseman you're becoming."

"I was very driven," he mumbled into my hair, until his hands moved through it freely and I realised that he'd undone my plait and I hadn't even noticed. I nestled back against him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine, his hands gripping onto my waist and stomach. There was no way to prevent my back arching when a very slow, and very deliberate, finger made its way through the laces at the top of my tunic to trace the line between my breasts. I did not know how to react to him; I did not know what to do, but it seemed like second nature to shift until the entirety of his hand was free to slip beneath the collar and gently cup my breast that was now bare to him. I had discarded my vest as soon as we had moved out of eyesight of our lands, for comfort rather than anything else, but in turn now made it simple for his calloused fingers to dance over my skin until I thought that I just might beg for him to teach me how to release the pooling of frustration in my belly.

His breath grew heavier and his mouth on my neck more insistent, until I inevitably forgot myself and moaned when again I felt his teeth softly biting into the skin at my neck. The sound was not enough to rouse me in the slightest, but it was enough to make Bard's hand pause and his breathing slow, though when his hand soon slid back to my breast he swore with a hoarse laugh and quickly stood up.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, then turned my head to speak but my mouth fell open instead, reacting instinctively to the sight of Bard quickly unwinding his belt and pulling the thin tunic over his head. His back was to me, but all the same I was faced with his bare skin and I do not think that there was any woman on the earth who would not have stood, as I did, and tentatively put out a hand to lie against the warmth of him. His skin was not as tanned as his face was, but there was an olive tint to it that I had not ever noticed, and my own slightly darker hand did not look quite so out of place as I had thought. He was still for a moment, as my other hand joined the first, and slowly and very unsurely began to move over the expanse of his back. I traced his shoulder blades reverently, and wondered at the tightness of the muscles at his waist, from years of labour and physical work. From the depths of my mind, I remembered how Eastlands women would create oils to pleasure the skin, to comfort it, and a silent thanks was sent from me to my heritage, along with an internal reminder to purchase some at the market the following day.

Bard was slighter than he seemed with all of the layers, narrower somehow, but his upper body, from what I could see, was honed with the strength of not only an archer but of endless work on the barge. My breath caught in my throat when I imagined that, someday, all of the skin under my fingers could be for me and me alone. There were a handful of scars – small ones closer to his neck, and a larger one that ran from his right shoulder blade down across his body, finishing near his waist. It was newer than the rest; from the battle four years before I assumed, and it thrilled me to entertain the thought that the first fingers to trace the line for nothing but interest and pleasure were my own, though I winced when I imagined him ever feeling such pain. Shamelessly, my eyes moved over the bare skin, memorising and filing it all away in my mind to be referred to on dark and lonely nights. I moved close enough to press my lips to his skin, revelling in the way his entire body shuddered. He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head, then bent his body until he was gripping onto the side of the boat.

"Anne…" he sounded out my name, perhaps as a warning, or an encouragement – I could not tell.

It was a warning, though; when I let my fingernails softly drag along his back, he groaned and laughed.

"This was not my intention when I removed my tunic," he said gruffly, and I saw that his knuckles were white with the effort of gripping onto the wood.

"What was your intention, then? Are you too hot?" I asked, purely intending to be polite and not expecting his throaty laugh in response.

"Among other things," he admitted and I turned away, hiding my face behind my hands in an effort to disguise the bright pink blush on my cheeks.

"What other things?" My voice came out all too faint, though he heard it easily enough and laughed again.

"I realised that if I did not…" he paused to swallow, "if I did not stop then, then perhaps I could not have stopped. At all."

"Ah," I said, not sympathetic at all. "What was your original plan, then? Is it still required?"

He turned around and took one look at me, hair loose and the top laces of my tunic completely open.

"Aye, it is required," he said with a guffaw. "Perhaps nothing has been more required than this."

That was the last I saw of him, though I soon heard the splash as he jumped into the water with an oath so loud that it would have scared all of our fish away.

"It's colder the further out you go," I called with an impish grin, unable to stop my howls of laughter as his head emerged, already shivering.

"Excuse me, then," he grinned and ducked under the water, his strong limbs propelling him easily further out. He kept swimming until he was a small spot in the distance and only then did I see him begin to make his way back – and only then did I understand exactly why he had needed to do what he had done.

"Anne?" he called when he was close enough that I could see the clear outline of his bare chest in the water.

"Hmm?" was all I managed from behind the cover of my hands.

"We need a chaperone - or two. Preferably two chaperones."

"_You _need a chaperone," I corrected with a wink. "I am perfectly innocent in all of this."

"You're ogling," he said flatly, though his accompanying chortle was abruptly cut off when I swung a leg over the side of the boat and dove into the water, searching for a way to disguise the heat travelling all too quickly over my skin.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed all too quickly. The sun was beating down on our heads and dried our clothes quickly by the time we pulled ourselves back onto the boat, and luckily the bamboo shoots on the water moved not long after. All four baits of dough were gobbled up, and we had four, decent sized fish for our meal that evening. The air was becoming heavier, and when I could almost taste the condensation, we began to row back to shore. Storms in the East come hard and fast, and even though the sky held not one cloud in it at all, by the end of the night it would all be dark and black, probably accompanied by the lightning of storms typical of the warmer weather.

"Lightning, you say?" Bard questioned with an interested smile. "I've not seen lightning for at least a year."

"A year?" I looked back at him, trying to measure whether or not he was jesting but he wore his usual, thoughtful expression. "Summer storms are normal here. They're worse in Rhun, of course. Further inland there'll be a sand storm after this, I imagine. But we won't even be able to see it," I added in a hurry when Bard cringed.

"Sand storms? What else are you planning to unleash upon Dale?"

I tilted my head with an exaggerated look of internal debate. "Scorpions, flash floods, mirages…"

"Mirages?" Bard's lip curled up at the side as he moved his tongue around the unfamiliar word.

"Aye, the cruellest of things…" I stopped for a moment, remembering when I had seen the very first mirage of my life. My mother and I had been travelling to the outskirts of Rhun, first along the sea and then a two day journey inland over the rocky, barren terrain, until we reached the western most city of the region. It was the only city that I had ever visited; even now, I have not ventured further, for the Variags further East are fearsome men, and do not take kindly to those who cannot prove kinship. My mother's family came from the western lands, and so that was where we went.

A day after our arrival, my grandfather took me to see the great mountains that bordered the city – indulgently, he allowed me to spend the entire day climbing the smallest one, and from its peak I caught glimpses of endless white sands, broken up by the strangest sight. The air seemed to shimmer, as if the sand was the smoothest, purest water, and not tiny granules that would burn the tongue instead of comfort it. I was so entranced by it that my feet began to descend the other side of the mountain all on their own, until my grandfather scrambled up and led me back down.

I relayed the story to Bard, ending it with how I had swum every day for a week when we had arrived home, until I finally believed that the mirage was no more.

"You should stay in Dale, then," Bard decided when we both jumped out and he hauled the boat onto the shore. I turned my face away from the inviting show of strength, though could not fail to notice how he grinned when one of my furtive glances became an overt stare as the wind blew his tunic around his body.

"How long are you planning to stay here?" I asked with faint misery when the wind lessened.

Bard looked up from where he had been crouched by the water, scaling the fish. "Another day, then I'll be off at dawn."

"Oh," I said flatly, and sat down ungracefully beside him. "So soon?"

"I've been away for five days as it is…" Bard shrugged and moved onto the next fish. "And I miss the children." His last words were accompanied by a short, coy grin. "I haven't ever been apart from them since… Well since I had them to myself."

I picked up a stone and tossed it into the water with a laugh. "That's a good reason, then. I forgive you."

"Your forgiveness isn't needed," he said, the quick strokes of his knife slowing as he shot me a contemplative smile. "I'd like you to come back with me."

My head snapped up with a frown. "I've already sent a letter to Sigrid; I'll leave in a week."

"Oh, the letter," Bard shook his head and chuckled. "I've had enough of letters to last me a lifetime. Your man delivered it to me on my way to you – apparently that was an easier option for him."

I let out a forceful breath and threw another stone. "I wish to stay, Bard. It's been too long since I've been here. And I do not know when I will be able to return."

"We'll come back," he said easily, smiling when I blushed at his easy use of 'we'. "But I want you to have an armed escort – you should have had that in the first place. The road isn't as safe as it once was; it's remarkable that you did not witness anything."

I spent the next few minutes pondering his words, slightly annoyed at how much sense he made, but resenting the idea of leaving. Turning, my eyes took in Alvar walking the horses and Iohan returning from the well with large buckets of water slung onto a strong plank of wood held over his shoulders. My uncle stopped at my pensive expression and smiled with a nod of his head, as if he understood just where my thoughts had turned.

"Very well," I said finally. "But I have one condition."

"Oh?" Bard split open the fish one by one, ready to be grilled on the open fire, then tossed them into a basket of woven reeds that Iohan threw our way. "What might that be?"

He washed his hands in the salt water, then stood with a hand outstretched to help me rise. When I did, I was met with a smile so bright that I lost my tongue. Iohan saved me, with a bark our way instructing us to wash and ready ourselves for the evening meal before the spring rains came in.

"Tell me what is happening with Sigrid and Fili," I said timidly, "for I know that you refused to read their letters…"

"Gods, woman!" Bard exclaimed and shook his head. "Do you know of everything that happens in Dale?"

I shrugged innocently. "Obviously not, considering I'm asking you now."

His hand was on my shoulder as we walked towards the two houses. "Well, there's no need for me to tell you myself. Your accomplice has sent you a letter, though I forgot about it 'til now."

"Accomplice? Whatever do you mean? No, really," I said honestly, "who?" '_Or rather, which one?' _I added silently.

"Prince Kili," Bard answered with a roll of his eyes. "He strolled over to Dale, smirking all the way, and dropped it into Sigrid's waiting hands. She added to it-"

"Added to it? What?"

"Oh," Bard grinned, his tone indulgent and warm, and spread his hands. "It's from all of them. Fili, Kili, Sigrid, Tilda, possibly even Bain if he managed to take a second away from his training. But-" he shied away from my hands that reached out to grab at his tunic, before I remembered that it had no pockets, "you can read it after dinner. I'd like a word with your uncle so it'll give you something to do."

I did not have to feign my unsteady step. "A word with my uncle?"

Bard's hand returned to my shoulder, and then slid down my arm until our fingers were linked. "Aye," he replied. "If that's alright?"

I halted and looked up at him, staring into his brown eyes in flustered silence. I had no answer for him, only the renewed spring in my step as we began the walk again, the delighted laugh that escaped my lips, and the shy smile that I offered him when he kissed my cheek and went inside to change for dinner.

* * *

My uncle grilled the fish, pausing every now and then to cut into a lemon and squeeze the fresh juice over the flesh, and dust the sides with pepper. He cooked all but one which he salted and wrapped up before handing it over to Alvar who jumped onto their stallion and rode it bareback over to our neighbours.

I thought that we would eat in awkward silence, but the conversation flowed freely once Iohan discovered that Bard had worked the barge during the old Master's reign in Laketown. For once I regretted not paying enough attention in alehouses over the years, for Iohan had heard about all of the Master's old tricks, and seemed to gain a degree of respect for my suitor when Bard admitted how the bargemen would work together clandestinely to bring in extra fish for poorer families. He never admitted that his own family was one of those that benefitted from such an arrangement, though my uncle would never had thought any less of him for it.

I saw Bard in a new light that night; his face was smooth from the usual worries, the normal lines from late evenings in his study or early mornings seeing in the returning men that were patrolling the lands. He laughed more than I had ever seen him do, and his enjoyment only made the night more blessed for me as I looked around at the faces of the three men that I loved above all. My uncle shared stories of my childhood, much to my chagrin, though Bard took pity on me and soon both men were roaring with laughter over some of Bain's antics over the years. Alvar and I shared an amused grin, both of our cheeks pink from the fresh red wine, and by the end of the meal all of our fingers were shiny and sticky from the near divine taste of the fish and herbs and cucumbers that I'd cut up from the garden.

When we all walked down to the water to wash our hands, Alvar nudged my side with a wink when my uncle clapped Bard on the shoulder, both of them mumbling together, about whatever it is that older men merry with drink mumble about.

"Anne!" Iohan called when they had sat themselves down on the stone bench in front of my home. "Bring the _ḡalyān,_ would you?"

I covered my mouth to hide my grin and ran a hand over my hair as I watched the two men chuckling together. "The pipe? You still have it?"

"Oh aye," Iohan said with a clap of his hands. "The rain's still a long way off, my dear, so go on up to the house and bring it down for us, that's my girl."

Alvar snorted with laughter and linked his arm with mine, and we both unsteadily made our way up to the second house. "He likes him," my cousin confided in me with another wink.

"Oh, do you think so," I said sarcastically, both of us shaking with silent laughter as yet another joint guffaw reached our ears from the front of the other house. "Could've put on a better show at least! He's like honey in Bard's hands."

We located the wooden case of my mother's water pipe, and walked back down to the house. Bard watched with interest as I carefully took the pieces out of the case, blowing through the pipes to clear them. Assembled, the pipe stood at the height of the bench, with a glass water basin and a long silver stem, engraved with swirling blue designs. There were two straight mouthpieces branching off on either side, with the tobacco bowl in the middle, at the top of the stem.

"Why, uncle," I commented dryly, "this is sparkling clean. One would think it's still used every day."

Iohan chose not to reply, but Bard surprised me by taking a deep sniff of the dark tobacco that I passed over, thinking he might take one whiff and decline given how strong Eastern tobacco was, but he merely grinned and rubbed his hands together.

"Smells better than pipeweed, that does," he said, and my uncle nodded his head seriously.

"Can't get better than straight from the source," Iohan pronounced. "There's no better tobacco than Eastland tobacco."

"Wait a minute," I cut in after I had filled the glass bowl from the water skin. I fumbled with the pouches in the case, finally deciding on two and dropping a few dried cherries into the water basin, then carefully letting some drops of rose oil escape its vial for flavour. "Since when do you smoke?"

Bard shrugged with an impish grin. "I met a Halfling once. We had a long conversation after the Battle. He was shaken up, I was shaken up… He had a pipe, I had a pipe…"

"A Halfling!" Iohan crowed. "Never seen one in my life."

"You would step on one, Da," Alvar put in. "They're tiny."

"Have _you_ seen one?" My uncle turned to Alvar with a curious look.

"Well… er… no," Alvar admitted, waving away my snort of laughter. "And neither have you, I'll bet."

I frowned, working through my foggy, wine addled mind. "No. No, I don't think I have. Are they like dwarves? I've seen a dwarf. And a dwarrowdam! I've seen a dwarrowdam, too. Have you seen a dwarrowdam, Alvar?"

"What's a dwar-dwar-what? Morgoth's balls, whatever is that?"

"Alvar!" Iohan bellowed into the night and I let out a squeak and quickly packed the tobacco into the clay bowl at the top of the pipe, then covered it with a small iron grill.

"Done, done, I'm done," I sang and offered the two men a deep bow, then quickly grabbed Alvar's hand and scampered off, though not before I darted back and snatched the letter that Bard was waving over his head.

We let our feet drag loudly over the grass, then naturally doubled back and crouched down beside one of the lanterns at the back of my home, close enough to hear the conversation and under enough light to read the letter.

"What's that?" Alvar whispered from beside me, and I showed him the royal seal of Dale.

"Uncle still thinks Bard's not a King," I hissed back with a silent chortle, until Alvar shushed me and pointed to the front of the home.

"Now, I'll tell you what," Iohan began with a smack to his thigh after he had placed the cedar coals onto the iron grill. "I don't give two shiny shites if you're the King of Dale, or Dorwinion, or Dol bloody Guldur," at which point I buried my face in my hands with a groan, "but if you can't provide for her, then I'm not agreeing to anything. Doesn't matter if you're too shy to tell me that you've got a small home at the bottom of your city, or wherever it is that you live. I don't care about that – she doesn't care about that. But I need to know that you can provide for her, keep her safe and happy."

Bard cocked an eyebrow and sat in silence for a moment, digesting the eloquent speech. "I can provide for her," he said finally, and Alvar shot me a bland, unimpressed look.

"Prove it," Iohan demanded with a growl.

"How am I going to prove it? I didn't bring bags of bloody gold with me," Bard protested. "She's been under my care for a year now, that's proof enough."

"Under _your _care? Just who do you think you are, youngling?"

"The King of Dale!"

"King of your ruddy arse, more like it!"

"I'm not listening anymore," I complained to Alvar, and opened the letter with a huff, attempting to drown out the men at the front of the house.

'_Dear Lady Anne of Dorwinion, _

_Please accept my utmost appreciation and thanks for all that you have-_

_Fili.'_

What?

"Alvar, read this. Does it end there?" I squinted at the beginning of the letter that had ended so abruptly.

My cousin bent his head over the letter for a good minute, then nodded. "I think it does, yes."

"Bema's beard," I grumbled, then continued to read.

'_Dear Anne, _

_Forgive my brother, would you? What he means to say is: grow wings and fly home if you can, because he needs to pay a visit to Bard and Bard isn't having any audiences, because he's buggered off to the ends of the earth to see you._

_Kindest regards, _

_Kili.'_

I read the words under my breath, stopping every now and again to laugh silently at Kili's light-hearted tone, until I had to stuff a hand in my mouth to stifle a wail of laughter as I read further down the page.

'_Lady Anne,_

_What we mean to say is, make haste, if you please, for-_

_F._

_Anne_

_Just get home. Fili is running around like a beardless chicken and I- K._

_I have a beard. F. _

_Not as big as mine. K. _

_Mine is demonstrably bigger. F. _

_Regardless, chickens do not have beards; therefore you have proved my point. Quickly now Anne, if you will. Kili'_

"Have a read of this," I grinned, and shoved the first page under Alvar's nose. "For a laugh."

I moved onto the second page, then decided to have a little listen of the conversation between Iohan and Bard, still seated at the front of my house, then cursed when it seemed that Iohan had decided to try a new tactic.

"Well, she has many faults!"

"We all have faults," Bard said firmly between draws of the pipe. "I love her, all the same."

Iohan grumbled under his breath, not knowing how I did a little dance of victory, and he scowled, and then continued on. "They're a superstitious bunch, Eastern women. Can't do anything if they think it'll give them bad luck. Weddings, for instance," he said pointedly and Bard puffed out a smoke ring with a cocked eyebrow. "No Eastern woman will get married in any season but spring. Don't ask me why, I have no idea, but they won't marry at all if it's not in spring."

"S'not so bad," Bard commented and shrugged his shoulders. "I like spring."

"Copper pots, then!" Iohan tried. "Ever tried to sleep with copper pots banging in your ear? Every time there's an eclipse, they're out all night banging them bloody pots together, warding off misfortune."

Bard thought for a moment. "Can't say that appeals to me, but just how many eclipses are there anyway? Not many."

Full steam ahead then, Iohan must have decided, for he then launched into a very comprehensive list of all of my superstitious behaviour. "She can't look at a full moon without turning a coin over in her pocket. Can't walk past an oak tree without walking around it three times one way and three times the other. Doesn't like compliments in case they give her the evil eye, and don't even bother trying to understand what on earth that is. Anything and everything is related to their poetry…" On and on he went, listing my faults, and I soon drowned him out and went back to the letter, noting with a pleased smile that Bain had, in fact, contributed.

'_Dear Anne,_

_Are you to return home soon? It's all quite dull here, nothing to report. _

_Bain.'_

"Like father, like son," I mumbled, repeating my words of the afternoon, then read on.

'_Anne, _

_Sigrid is flapping around like a fish out of water. Are you coming back? Can you bring me something pretty?_

_Tilda.'_

"Something pretty…" I mused to myself. "Easy enough."

'_Dear Anne, _

_Please come home. I sent a messenger to Fili to tell him to come to Da at once, but Da said he didn't have any time until he returns. I am not flapping like a fish, but I am rather impatient. _

_Forgive me for being selective in what information I passed on to Da. I thought it might push him into action for once, though I did not dare to imagine that he might get on a horse and ride all the way to you. I asked him what on earth he was thinking of, and all he said was 'Anne'. So I think, perhaps, that you'd best prepare for something to come of that. _

_Da told me before he left that he would agree to Fili asking for my hand, if that is what I wanted. No more extra suitors. I think my heart will burst with joy. I am counting the moments until I see him again, and if my heart was not bursting, then he is the one who holds it in his hands. Oh, Anne – come home, come home. We miss you. _

_Sigrid.'_

I accepted another glass of wine passed to me by Alvar, though not before I sniffed his to make sure it was suitably watered, waving away his wince.

"Have you been listening at all?"

"Not particularly," I replied. "Are they getting anywhere?"

Both of us tuned back into the conversation, rolling our eyes in unison when we noted that Iohan was still looking for ways to convince Bard that I was not the woman for him. If I didn't know that Iohan would put himself in front of a warg for me, I might have been offended, but as it was, it was simply delightful to listen to. Iohan was famous for his tests of anyone and everyone, and it seemed that Bard was doing extraordinarily well thus far.

"And here's another one," Iohan said finally. "She knows everything. Everything. Nothing happens without her knowing about it. She'll listen at doors if she has to."

"Oh, I know that," Bard put in cheerfully. "I've had more than enough time to get used to it."

"Have you now?" Iohan leant back against the wall and crossed his arms, the tone of his voice making me cringe. Alvar and I both knew that tone – it was always, without exception, accompanied by a knowing smirk.

"Well then, bargeman, do you think she's listening now?"

Alvar and I froze while Bard closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. "Hmm. No," he said eventually. "I did give her something to occupy her time."

"I've a wager for you," Iohan said then. "Based on whether or not she's listening to our words right this very minute."

Bard took another puff of the pipe, and turned to him with an interested gleam in his eyes. "What'll you wager?" he asked amiably, Alvar groaning silently beside me, as we knew that Bard had just willingly walked into the lion's den.

Iohan thought for a moment. "If you're right, you can disregard everything I've said, consider yourself a man approved. But if you're _wrong,_" he said sternly when Bard grinned, "then I'll have a sleep in tomorrow, and you can accompany Anne and Alvar to the market." I cringed at that, knowing the women of the village would have a field day at the sight of Bard on my arm. He would be pestered endlessly – quite an adequate wager, given how ruthless some of them were. I almost let out a moan when I remembered what I needed to pick up at the markets, the gift that I had nervously organised soon after my arrival. Iohan knew about it, of course – there was nothing that the man did not know, and I suspected that the wager was as much to punish me as it was to punish Bard.

Soon both men were bonding over the value of sleeping late into the morning, oblivious to my plight, a conversation that had me holding my head in my hands between generous sips of wine.

"They'll never get around to it at this rate." Alvar shook his head with an apologetic smile.

"Now then, how are you planning to know if she's listening?" Bard asked politely, and my ears perked up.

"Simple enough. Just tell me your true intentions for coming here. And none of that 'she was going to marry someone else' bollocks. I saw through that the minute you said it."

Bard took a deep breath in. Even the thunder had stopped rumbling in the distance, and Alvar took a tight hold of my wrist as the silence dragged on. I was beginning to feel rather smug, thinking that nothing could possibly drag me out of my very careful, and very well thought out, silence. I took a satisfied sip of wine and let the liquid swish around in my mouth.

Bard turned to Iohan with a small smile on his face, no nerves in his expression at all, only honesty.

"I came to ask her for her hand," he said simply, and at that my presence was detected immediately for I very quickly, and very, very loudly, spat out my wine.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

First off – I'm overwhelmed by all of the new followers and favourites. Thank you very much. This chapter is staggeringly large compared to what I usually post, so forgive me!

'Bicce' is old English for bitch.

The superstitions are all very real, though very old. The water pipe is indeed a galyan, or hookah, though not the modern type that has hoses and such. It used to (and in some places, still is) be a straight device.

Virgcoup – I had thought about it, but couldn't even bring myself to write it!

Debatable-cerealkiller – I certainly wouldn't have. Iohan may or may not be changing his tune in the next chapter, though.

IntotheMoon – yes! Perfect, absolutely perfect.

XtaticBlueSoul – I borrowed your review for a line of Anne's about a third of the way through, did you catch it? Quite suitable, I think ; )

RedStalkingDeath – thank you very, very much!

Kaia – good! That was my intention; thank you very much!

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	25. Chapter 25

In every village in Rhûn, there lives an older woman who is known by all, for she is a match-maker. The match-maker is a woman who watches – she sees the women that are independent and stubborn, she sees the women who are meek and shy. Not even a woman travelling on the middle road between confidence and timidness, a woman like myself, escapes her notice. She is always a mother and a wife herself, and often will teach her craft to her own daughters; the craft of observing a man and a woman, and deciding whether or not they shall live in happiness or despair.

Mothers of sons of a marriageable age pay her regular visits, gifting her with sweets and kind words in hope for a single name. The match-maker is never swayed by such offerings; if a man does not suit a woman, then he does not suit her. Perhaps he has too much fire, or too little, or perhaps he is too much of the earth, and not enough of the water. He may have been born under an eclipse, or his mother may have seen violence while he was still in the womb, marking him forever as a child of passion and sometimes, anger. I knew all of these aspects of the Eastern man, for my own mother was the daughter of a match-maker. My mother went against the advice of my grandmother and parted from her in sadness. She knew a short love, but one that fed her for all of her years. She did not love another after my father.

There were no match-makers in my village, nor any outside the main city in Dorwinion. It was a blessing for me, a woman who held the heart of a suitor; a woman who had to navigate the match all on her own. For I knew that my grandmother would have looked at Bard and dismissed him at once – he was a man of the earth, and of conflict; he had seen life and love, enough to believe himself satisfied, until he met me. And I? At the age of thirty summers, I was a woman of water: I had known loss, but I had not known love; I had known hard work, but I had not known poverty. I had dreamt of a child, of a rosebud mouth and pink tiny fists, but never had I had the joy of my own child, born of my body. I had left Dorwinion for Minas Tirith, and years later I fled Minas Tirith to return home again. In turn, the water in my blood carried me to Dale. I had flitted between lands, never settling; until now. And when the storm rolled in with a vengeance that evening, I lay in bed alone with the cracks of thunder marking each thought of panic that ran through my mind.

A flash of lightning startled me and I rolled onto my side to better see the sky lighting up with lines of purple and white. A light rain was beating on the windows, yet it barely made a sound compared to the noise of the springtime storm. Alvar lay snoring in another bed on the other side of the room, and Iohan's grumbling, dreaming voice could easily be heard from the next bedroom. Alvar was unique in our family; none of us could stand a storm, particularly my mother. She would often sit on the stone bench outside of our home and watch the lightning of the water, and when I would inevitably wake and go to find solace in her arms, she would whisper to me of a woman somewhere whose heart was so troubled that the skies had opened for her, to lend her strength.

I knew that on this night, that woman was me. The clouds had opened above our heads soon after Bard's revelation, and Alvar and I ran to the cover of my uncle's home, Iohan following us soon after with a wink and smile directed my way. Bard had his approval, then, I realised and I ducked my head with a blush and climbed quickly into bed. But sleep did not come to me; fright came instead. I was terrified of Bard – terrified of becoming his wife, of becoming his Queen. I had been content, comfortable even, with my life before I had known the sweetness of him, yet the knowledge that no other would enter my heart did not abate my fears. I turned over again and pulled the blanket up and over my head in an effort to fool my eyes into believing there was no storm, there was simply he and I, free to love and wed and bed. Suddenly another deafening roar of thunder cut through my attempt at comfort and I sat up quickly and darted out of bed. I paced the floor for as long as I dared, until another crack pierced the air and sent me diving for my cloak.

My feet took me to the bedroom door then to the main room, past the sparse yet homely furniture, until they stopped on the threshold of the house. Not satisfied with halting there, they stepped over doorstep and turned as my hands reached out to softly shut the door. My feet were bare but they were not afraid of carrying me at a run down the wooden steps and onto the wet grass, my toes pale white against the darkness of the storm. The rain drenched my cloak in seconds but still I ran until at last I came to the tiny little stone house on the shore. I stopped by the bench outside the front door when I noticed that there were no faint lights shining through the windows, nor any sign that the man that I had sought was still awake.

With a sigh, I sat down on the cold stone bench and leant my head back against the house. The covered porch protected me from the rain, though the warmth of energy from the run soon dissipated and I began to shiver, my teeth chattering and hands shaking with the sudden onset of cool winds.

The skies did not answer me as I had hoped – the answer came from the creak of the dark cedar door and small smattering of light on the grass as the candle Bard held near to my face lit the darkness of the night. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking me in, until my body trembled with another shiver and I was met with a tender smile that taught me that I was wrong to look to the skies for a resolution.

"Impossible woman," he said lowly, though his words were tempered by the gleam of pleasure in his eyes. "Impossible, impossible woman."

Before I could blink, he had me in his arms and cradled against his chest.

"Your uncle will have my head," he muttered with laughter in his tone, and soon enough I was bundled inside and giggling at the audaciousness of coming to his rooms in the darkness of the night while the skies battled with rage above our heads.

We did not speak as he peeled the wet cloak away from my body then hung it up outside, and no words at all were exchanged when he shut the door and bolted it. It was as if we had been thrown into my little bedroom in the royal house during winter again, for Bard soon stoked the glowing embers and encouraged the fire back to life, then disappeared into one of the rooms before emerging with his coat. As he had months before, he eased his arm into one side then sat down on the floor in front of the fire with his back against the small wooden bench between the two chairs. I curled up beside him, one arm in the vacant side of his coat and the other curved around his back, drawn to the warmth of his chest, and rested my cheek against his heart.

"You could've caught your death," he muttered, his hand slowly painting invisible lines on my lower back.

"Were you awake?" I asked quietly, though the calm tone to my voice broke at the end when another clap of thunder boomed through the air. Bard shook his head with a grin.

"I was," he said finally. "But you shouldn't be. You should be asleep."

I closed my eyes and burrowed closer to his body. "Why should I sleep if you do not?"

"Because you should not have reasons to keep you awake at night," Bard said plainly, his arm tightening around me for a short moment. I could not help but smile.

"Will you tell me why you cannot sleep, _azizam?_" I questioned him, the endearment slipping from my lips like the easy beat of rain on the windows. Impulsively I raised my face to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head and took the kiss on his mouth, then pressed his lips gently to mine again, and then again. The idea of him sleepless somehow prompted me to link my arms behind his neck and open my mouth to him, and move my body until it was my own back against the bench and Bard curled at my side, his leg over mine.

Despite the warmth of the fire, the stone floor was cold, and no place for being held in his arms.

"Lie down with me," he whispered into my ear and chuckled when I froze. "Lie down, and nothing else."

"And you will tell me?" I pressed. Bard caught the look on my face and smiled.

"Aye, I shall tell my love whatever it is that she wishes to know," he said easily and his honeyed tongue had me on my feet with a shy smile as I allowed him to lead me into the bedroom. I stopped at the door, surveying my old bedroom, from the simple wooden chest to the small bed, topped with a warm woollen blanket. Without a second thought I walked over to the bed and untucked the blanket, holding it out with my arms outstretched, then folded it over again and placed it back on top of the bed.

"This was my bed," I explained hesitantly. "I always used to have to double the blankets…"

Bard shook his head with a grin and walked around the bed to stand at the head, his eyes containing a challenge that I only understood when he pulled his tunic over his head and slipped under the sheets.

"Oh…" I bit my lip and took a nervous step back. "I shouldn't… not if you're not…"

My tormenter snorted with laughter and held up the sheets on the other side of the bed, inviting me in. "It'll be warmer for you. My intentions are nothing but pure." Laughingly, he placed a hand on his heart and extended the other towards me. "Come."

I took one look at the hand on his chest and walked slowly over to the other side of the bed and clasped my hand with his. "A hand on your heart - you swear it, then?"

"I do," Bard replied solemnly, though the shine to his eyes betrayed the serious sound to his voice.

I pondered the invitation again, modestly deliberating, until I could no longer ignore the simple desire to lie beside him and feel his skin enveloping me. Unexpectedly, I thought that there was nothing more that I wanted on that night other than to close my eyes and sleep beside him, warm and safe. Finally I nodded and sat slowly on the bed, then turned to push my feet under the sheets. Bard pulled the blankets up and over us and gently placed his hand at my back, guiding my head down until again I was resting with my cheek over his heart, though now there was no barrier between my face and the heat of his skin.

"I do not know how…" I admitted, and smiled shyly when he chuckled deeply and reached down and bent my knee, then moved it over until my leg was thrown comfortably over his own longer pair. My shift rode up to my thighs at the movement, but he was true to his word and simply tucked the blankets in more firmly. I looked down his body, taking in how easily it had been to become pressed against his form, his arm under my head, fingers playing with my hair and our other hands linked on his stomach.

"Is this agreeable to the lady?" he teased, bending to place a kiss to my hair.

It was a fair question; I could no longer pretend that what was happening _wasn't _happening, for I was leaning on a bare chest, with a clear view down to the ties at his trousers. I took my time in answering him, letting my eyes travel over the taut muscles, the skin pulled straight and firm. His upper body was covered in a light dusting of black hair that I soon found to be smooth when I tested it with the tip of my finger, though I was not brave enough to let my hand move any further, to trace the scars or the flat skin between his ribs and his hips, even though I wished to. I wished to see more of him in the golden light of the candle on the bedside table, I wished to see _all _of him; a desire that I had never truly felt, or perhaps never understood. I swallowed nervously.

"It is agreeable," I said in a small voice, feeling grateful when his hand gathered my own up again, even if instead of innocently linking our fingers, he laid my palm flat over his stomach and covered it with his hand – I could not move it, nor did I want to. It seemed like an unspoken agreement that neither of us would move to place our lips over the others – it was testing the waters enough to lie beside each other in such a way, and anything further was far too dangerous, although I would have easily named it tempting instead.

"Speak, if you wish to," I reminded him while I decided where to place my other hand, lest it should stay where it was currently wedged between my body and his thigh. After a moment, I settled for folding it at the elbow and tucking my cold fingers under his back.

Bard took a deep breath in while he planned his words, then let the breath out in a rush of air that grazed my cheeks.

"Three things," he admitted, though he said no more. A year ago I would have clucked my tongue and pressed him to continue, but Bard had taught me the value of patience, so I simply kept my cheek on his chest and counted the beats of his heart.

Three and thirty beats later, his chest fell and rose noticeably again. "I worry for the children," he began quietly, his words being so unexpected that I pushed away from his chest to look at his expression, and frowned when I saw that it was torn. He accommodated me easily, moving with well practiced ease until we were both on our sides, facing each other on the pillow that had been so painstakingly stuffed with feathers.

"Why?" I asked, reaching out to brush the hair away from his forehead. "They've been in good hands since the day they were birthed."

Bard nodded slowly, and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, though he soon retrieved my hand and placed it back on his stomach. "They have been, aye, but there's three of them and one of me. Sigrid will do well, of that I'm sure – she'll marry her prince, he'll keep her safe in that mountain. I used to hate the idea of her all cooped up in there, but with the increase in attacks I can't think of a better place for her to be."

"Surely the increase is not enough to have you sleepless, _azizam? _The orcs are like plagues, they come and go," I mused, perhaps naively but from what I knew, it was true. When I had asked the dwarves in Erebor during my stay with Sigrid, they had brushed off our concerns with the confidence only born by hardened warriors, and even Bard had always assured me that the threats were generally contained easily enough.

"There's been more and more," he explained, turning to me to grimace before looking back at the ceiling. "The nights are warmer and they're travelling easier – so far it's been the odd pack here and there, but how many more can there be? With each pack, we think that surely there could not be anymore. But they spring up out of the earth like vermin. Kill one and another comes in his place."

By 'we', Bard was no doubt referring to the patrols that had been led by Slecg, the Captain of his Guard. Slecg was a fearsome man, tall and wide with arms that seemed like bands of muscle rather than limbs. Given the peaceful nature of Dale as a city, Slecg often led the soldiers out to the farmlands to scour the woods, a task he had kept for three years now, and he could move with the silence of a wild cat searching for prey. Bard and Slecg had spent many recent nights holed up in Bard's study, analysing maps and pack movements, searching for patterns.

"And with the increased threat," Bard continued, "comes Bain. He wants nothing more than to take part in the patrols, to begin his service to Dale. I do not think I can stop him any longer."

I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. "It is the way of our world, is it not? And yet, I would not wish him to join them any more than I would wish _you _to join them."

"Both of us will have to soon," he said grimly, and I swiftly moved back to him, letting him enfold me within his arms again.

"Not you, nor Bain," I mumbled. "Please…"

"You would have Bain stay a boy forever? All the mothers of Dale must send their sons to war, and you would have him stay while the rest go?"

"If it was within my power to do so," I replied softly. "But it is not, now, is it?"

"Perhaps one day it shall be." Bard's words hung in the air between us, though I soon brushed them aside in favour of staring at him with silent compassion. I did not understand what he was meaning to say, nor did I wish to.

"I would have him stay a boy for as long as he would allow it," I confessed. "But I fear that my wish would keep him from becoming a man, and thus deny him his deepest wish." I bent my head again, resting against his chest. "How do you do it? Reconcile your duty with your family?"

"Ah," Bard kissed my hair again. "You have discovered the second reason why I cannot sleep. Duty."

For a moment, I wondered if I could speak to him as a wife would speak to her husband – chastise him, order him to rest, to sleep. And yet I was far too selfish a woman to forgo his honesty in favour of ridding him of the shadows under his eyes, or the grimness to his features.

"Duty to whom?" I asked eventually, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the increasing sound of the rain hitting on the stone house.

Again his chest rose and fell before he answered. "To the children, to Dale. Sometimes the two are not one and the same. There are nights that I do not see them at all; nights that Sigrid puts Tilda to bed and not I, as if I were still a bargeman and she still a daughter that stays up late in the night, waiting for a penniless father. Even you, my love, have seen Bain practice his skills more than I have."

In the short time since we had begun our lessons, I had seen that Bain had improved tenfold. The daggers he threw grew ever longer and heavier, and he now carried a sword the same length as a man ten years older would. Bain had inherited his father's skill with a bow, until Sigrid had sworn to me one day that she could no longer tell the difference between the fluid motions of her father notching an arrow, and her brother letting it fly. I relayed this to Bard, taking care not to mention that I myself had had the good fortune to watch him hit target after target while cheering and clapping with a pride that swelled in my chest.

"Aye, he is talented," he said gruffly and cleared his throat. "I hope that he will not need to put his talent to use, but I fear that he will… and soon."

I could say nothing of value, nothing to reassure him. For what could I ever know about the warring feelings of a man torn between proudly protecting his city, and cloistering his children until they were safely grown?

"You will come back? Both of you?" I said urgently, a spread of fear growing in my stomach. "You will come back to me? To us all?"

"Do you think I would not?" He hooked his calloused hands under my arms and lifted until I was resting on the pillow again, and he was half lying over me, bearing his weight on one arm and his other gently touching my cheek. "Do you think that if I had any choice in it, that I would not come back to you?"

The heat of a blush began to bloom under his gentle hands, and my reply was soon swallowed by a kiss that was all too short.

"If I am able, then I will always come back," he vowed, his mouth curving ever so slightly up at the side as he lay back down on the pillow again to face me.

"I wish you were not so dutiful," I admitted.

"Oh." Bard grinned and let his hand fall on my waist. "But, you see, if I were not so dutiful then I would not be a king now would I?"

"Must one be dutiful to be a King, then?" My question was not directed at him, but rather at myself. For I already knew that I would be hard pressed to find myself ever putting the needs of others in front of the needs of the man beside me, and the children born of his blood.

"You are forgetting something, love." Bard shook his head. "My children are a part of Dale. _You _are a part of Dale. Therefore when I am dutiful to Dale, I am dutiful to my children, and to you."

"You knew what I meant," I said quickly as the thought struck me. "You understood what I meant," I breathed, when the thought drove home. "How?"

He was watching me the way one might when studying a painting, or a sculpture; as if there was some great secret about it that was always only slightly out of reach.

"We are not so different, you and I," he said finally and I gave a shaking laugh at the indulgent idea of being similar to royalty.

"We're not," he pressed. "D'you know, I only took the crown a few months before you came to Dale?"

I sat up in surprise. "But the dragon was slain four years before I came. When I first arrived in Dorwinion two years later, they were already speaking of the King of Dale: you."

"Come back," Bard ordered gently and I fell against his chest with a laugh, burrowing into his warmth as he moved his fingers through my hair and splayed it out over the pillow.

"They… the people, wanted me to be King from the moment that I killed the dragon. But it did not seem… It did not seem right. We still had the old Master, then, and so I served him still. I thought it was the right thing to do… though he took off with a lot of the gold that he was given, and so they looked to me again. But I didn't…" he trailed off, a chuckle emerging from deep in his chest when I prodded his rib to encourage him to continue. "Woman, this is the most I have spoken in years. I am not a man of many words."

"Indeed you are not," I mumbled with a smile, enjoying the way his breath hitched when my fingers hesitantly moved over the hair on his chest. "And yet you did say that you would speak."

Bard grumbled under his breath and sighed. "I'll lose my tongue if you continue on the road that you're on," he said, raising his head to take in the sight of my fingers flittering over his chest.

"No you won't," I said steadily. "Go on now."

Smiling, he shook his head and let it fall again back to the pillow. "As my lady commands," he conceded. "They wished for me to be King, but I feared that… I feared that the sickness that befell the Master would come to me the minute that I had command over the gold. And so I stayed a servant to him in name, though they still addressed me as King, still insisted that I stay in the royal house when it was finished. Dale was rebuilt and finally complete just short of three years after the death of the dragon, and only then did I begin to consider taking the crown… It was my birthright, but it is a heavy weight."

"A heavy weight? I heard your crown, not that I have ever seen it, is made from mithril," I teased, referring to the mined element that weighed not more than water.

Bard snorted with laughter and wrapped his arms around me for a moment, holding me closer to him. "True weight does not indicate importance. Or at least, I do not believe that it does."

"Now," he said firmly. "To my third point, and quickly now, for I think that we will be discovered late in the morning if you do not sleep soon."

"You must sleep, too," I urged him with a frown. "'Tis not right that I should sleep and you do not. Besides, what is the point of me even being in here with you if it does not lead to sleep?"

"What is the point?" Bard asked quickly, eyes wide and mouth curved into a smirk. "There are many points to a bed, or is my woman too innocent to appreciate a soft surface?"

I looked down, surprised, as I felt his hand slowly move from my waist down over the curve of my body until it rested at my thigh. "You swore," I said pointedly. "On your heart."

"And so I did," he said with a rueful chuckle. "Though I am beginning to regret it."

"Well I'm not," I said staunchly. "Look at your hand now." I directed my indignation at the fingers that had slipped under the shift to lie against my skin, though I made sure to hide my face so he did not see how my eyelids fluttered until they were welded shut at the pleasure of his hand on my bare thigh.

"My hand is lucky," he remarked mildly, causing me to shake my head with an indulgent smile. "It is where my mouth is not."

At once my head snapped up and my black eyes met his brown, laughing pair. "Enough," I scolded. "You are reaching too far."

"I am," he said easily, driving his point home by sliding his hand further until it lay on my hip. I was all too aware that there was no barrier between him and the parts of my body that no man had seen, and so I glowered.

"Have a care, suitor of mine," I said sternly. "You are the more knowledgeable of us both, yet you swore on your heart to be honourable, so honourable you must be."

Bard chuckled and tucked the shift back down over my thighs, his hand settling instead on my back. His chuckle became a hoarse laugh when I nodded in approval and lent my cheek on his heart again and he kissed my forehead. "You have unwittingly discovered the third point," he said quietly. "You."

I would have shied away if his arm had not tightened around my waist. "Me? You cannot sleep because of me?"

"Aye, I cannot sleep, I have barely slept since you left. Amusing, is it?" he asked when I laughed.

"It is," I allowed. "You have described me. I am amused, for surely you cannot feel the way that I do."

"Why ever not?" At his words, he sat up and pulled me with him until we were both sitting in front of each other. "Tell me why not."

I shrugged. "Because you have been gifted with much already – you have lived more than I have ever thought to. Why should you love me as I love you? Why should you allow yourself to be consumed, when you have experienced such joys already?"

Bard swore under his breath and grabbed my hand and placed it on his heart, watching my eyes widen when I found that it was pounding in his chest. "I have loved you honourably, as a suitor should do a maiden, and I tell you now that I have loved you passionately as a man would a woman. It is _you _that should not feel the same as I."

I took a deep breath in and raised my head from where I had been studying the sheets. "Why? I can barely offer you anything!"

"I can offer you _nothing,_" he countered vehemently. "Nothing. Yet still you are here with me, a woman who has barely known the touch of a man, here for me, when I have loved and lived and do not deserve to possess you the way that I wish to. You should be the mistress of your own house, with a man who has loved none other but you, and children who will be yours alone. I have been selfish enough to desire you, as if I were not an old widower but instead your young farmer with his field of hops, lucky enough to look upon you walking through the fields. I have been selfish enough to come here for you, when I should have done away with my greed and let you give your heart to another, because surely I do not deserve it. You are a woman of water, and I would no doubt bring you down to the earth."

The joy in my face would have been unmistakable as I recognised the truth in his words, words that I had thought to myself only hours before, words that had sent me from my own bed to his.

"You would bring me to earth," I affirmed, unable to hide my slow, catlike smile even as he nodded with his ever present frown. "You would bring me to earth, and show me more happiness than I have seen. You would share your body with me, and your children, and your city."

"Aye, I would," he said hoarsely, soon with his arms around me and his lips on my hair. "And I would be a man of good fortune to do so. Like a King from your stories."

"I want nothing more," I said plainly. "Just you. Not even your city."

"And we are enough?" he pressed. "The old widower and his wayward children?"

"More than enough," I said with a wondering shake of my head. "Too much, even."

"We are in agreement, then," he said very, very slowly. "You are far, far above my deserts and I am far, far above yours – according to you."

"Yes," I said gleefully. "What a pair we make."

Bard released me from his hold, and I sat back and watched as his hands found mine and linked us together in the small space between our crossed legs. "Then do you not think… The two of us - the pair that we make… Do you not think that it would be best if such a pair were married? Surely no one else will have us, then."

I stared at him, taking in the words as they fell out of his mouth, the way that he swallowed roughly, the way that he moistened his lips that were suddenly dry.

"The pair that we make…" I repeated, revelling in the words. "And if I did? If I did think that it would be best? We are a sorry pair, you and I, after all…" For even though the very idea of clasping my hands with the man in front of me filled me with enough fear to nearly stop my heart, there was a sharp stab of regret in my stomach at the mere fleeting idea that it would not be the best thing, the very, very best thing.

Bard's mouth twitched at the corner and he soon ducked with head with a wide, boyish smile of pleasure. My eyes stayed on his lips as they opened once, then closed, then opened again.

Finally he met my gaze again. "If you did think such things," he said gradually, leaning forward to place a kiss on my cheek, "if you did, then I would ask you to be my wife."

This time it was I that looked down, wishing not for the first time that I was gifted with smooth speech, planned thoughts. "I do think it would be best," I stammered at length. "And I do not think that anything could be better."

"Then say you'll be my wife," he said firmly, reaching out to hook a thumb under my chin to raise my face to meet his intent stare. "Say you'll be my wife," he repeated softly, his eyes roaming over my face, trying to decipher the gleaming heat of pleasure that I was sure was reflected in the skies as the rain halted and the winds blew less and less.

"If you will have…" I began uncertainly, but I was cut off by the press of his mouth to mine.

"Not if I will have you," he corrected me gently, a small laugh erupting from his chest. "If _you _will have _me. _Tell me that you will be my wife, that you will be my very own, that I may have and hold you, openly, as my wife."

I could not help myself; I laughed loudly, delightedly. He soon joined me, until our laughter rang throughout my old little bedroom, and I was sure that we would be discovered until he smilingly put a finger over my lips and shushed me.

"Well?"

"Oh very well," I acceded finally, giggling when his hands reached for me instantly, then he checked himself.

"Very well what?" Bard pressed, the gleam in his eyes all too familiar. I turned my face away, shy all of a sudden, but let him cup my cheek to bring me back to him.

"Very well, then," I repeated. "I shall be your wife."

He hesitated for a moment still, then his smile broke out when he realised the words that I had said.

"You shall be my wife," he affirmed, and when I nodded, the moment came at last that he snatched me up within his arms, his mouth warm on mine, his kisses short and blissful, until I was sure that our lips were bruised. Only then did he draw me back down to lie beside him on the bed, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair, closing our eyes to the sound of his low voice in the air as he whispered his plans for the both of us, how he would love me openly as his wife, how surely he would always return from the inevitable wars, return to his bed that would now be kept warm for him always.

I let him whisper his thoughts to me, and I remembered them all, as if I had written them down at that very moment. And when his voice eventually trailed off, I raised myself and cupped my chin in one hand, marvelling at the smoothness that my fingers found when they reached out to touch his sleeping brow. Only then, when I knew that he was lost to dreams, did I sleep.

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A/N

Happy Father's day, readers. Although here in Australia, F's day comes a bit later, I thought I'd put this up as a gift for those who are from other parts of the world.

**My true gift is this**: head to youtube and search for the Hobbit (DoS) extended scene called 'The Dwarves in Laketown'. May I present saucy, scrumptious Bard at 1:12 onwards, my inspiration for a light-hearted Bard in the Dorwinion chapters.

A note: book canon does have Bard being crowned in 2944, the year before Anne comes to Dale, three years after the Battle of the Five Armies. The old Master is also said to have succumbed to gold sickness, which is also presented to be a sickness easily caught by humans.

I also might start replying to reviews in PMs, if that's alright, as my ego will just get too big if I let myself look at the reviews all at once!

Enjolras123 – thank you!

Dhalmi93 – I'm glad you liked the ending, thanks!

XstaticBlueSoul – for you, my dear, I offer you the 6000 words above to appease your masochism.

PrincessSerenity – I haven't actually seen the film, but I googled her. Tamina - is that who you mean? Not particularly, only as I haven't looked to actresses for inspiration for her as the makeup etc makes it difficult. There is an Iranian actress named Nazanin Boniadi, though, who is pretty much Anne if you can find the couple of pictures around that have her sans makeup. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

ColorGuardianoftheGalaxy – do you think he did well in this chapter?

Eryndil – spot on, haha!

RedStalkingDeath – thank you!

Kaia – exactly. Priorities, people. ; )

Debatable-cerealkiller – haha, wonderful! Not much laughter here, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

Minna – thank you! More F&amp;K to come in about two chapter's time.

CoryAvellana – thank you very, very much. I'm so glad it feels suited to ME, I hope that it stays that way!


	26. Chapter 26

The rising of the sun the next morning had me opening my eyes to a sight that quickly had a hand clapped over my mouth so as not to giggle with joy. Bard lay beside me, stretched out on his back, an arm supporting his head as his chest rose and fell with deep, peaceful breaths. The blanket had inched its way down his body until it revealed the entirety of his chest, and his other arm was splayed out on the bed, though from the dull pressure that still remained at my lower back, I knew that I had spent the night being held.

I eased myself away from the bed and walked on my toes over to the door, then paused indulgently to cast an appraising eye over my husband to be. His mouth was slightly open, and with the absence of his usual half braid, his hair was spread over the pillow and his forehead. To wake up to such a view! My fingers itched to smooth it back, but the sheer delectability of his dishevelled state halted my hands, and I settled for leaning against the doorframe with a lick of my lips, the bareness of his chest distracting me from a single brown eye opening. Just as I leant forward on the balls of my feet to take another appreciative sniff of the scent of sea air and all around 'man' that seemed to cling to him, I froze when his other eye opened.

"I am not produce in a market. I thought you were the model of respectability, betrothed wife," Bard teased, his voice hoarse from sleep. I repeated the words in my mind, teasing them out slowly so I would always remember the first time he named me 'wife'.

"Even models of respectability have their weaknesses, betrothed husband," I shot back with a wink, thrilling to the word, and finally gave in to the urge to giggle, then turned on my heel and headed to my mother's room where I had moved my belongings into on my first evening back in Dorwinion.

After washing, I eased open the chest at the end of mother's bed and rifled through my old clothes, settling finally on an elbow length red blouse and long pleated grey skirt. The box perched on the bedside table produced my girlhood bracelets of silver, accumulated over the years with each visit to Rhûn. They were as wide as one of my fingers, and engraved with flowers. Childishly, I shook my hands, smiling at the familiar sound of the bracelets tinkling. Next came my hair, to be braided and tied as usual, and I slid Bard's silver comb of pomegranate flowers above the knot at the back of my neck. Once more I wished that Iohan had not taken Bard to task, and instead was accompanying me to the market instead, though knowing my uncle he would turn up anyway. He knew as well as I did that Bard's gift would be ready and waiting at the engraver's stall.

I left the house soon after and retrieved my cloak, now hanging dry after being blown in the crisp morning wind. Alvar was waiting on the steps of his home, though he tactfully chose to say nothing at my emerging from my home instead of his, and instead returned my morning salutations with a yawn. We pulled on our socks and light leather boots together, then stayed on the porch until Bard emerged in his usual dark trousers, white tunic and brown woollen vest.

At each new moon, the village would host a market. It was primarily made up of travelling traders that took the roads between Rhûn, Dorwinion and Dale, and the four week timeframe allowed many traders to frequent the market on their way to the larger cities. Three other villages further inland hosted the market on the other three weeks during the month, and any within a day's ride would come to see endless goods on offer. As befitting a village market, there was not just an array of womanly accessories - ribbons and the like - such as seemed to cover half of Dale's offerings, but also a wide variety of livestock; good, strong Eastern horses among them. It was the closest Bard would ever come to seeing the Eastlands for himself, for the tall, dark men that herded the horses into the village always brought a wagon full of Eastern sweets and snacks, and boxes of fabric and perfumes from the Southern lands that bordered Rhûn. Such items rarely reached Dale, as any woman with a dash of Eastern blood would snatch up any last remnant of the traditional oils and materials before they could be sent onwards towards the West, where, no doubt, the items would be far less prized.

We walked quietly, snacking on the bread I had bought the day before and jumping every now and again to pull an apple or orange from a tree. True to my uncle's words, when we reached the large oak tree at the halfway mark, I took a hold of Alvar's hand and dragged him around the trunk three times one way, then three times the other.

"Wish," I commanded him when we began to walk again, and laughed when he screwed his eyes shut and muttered under his breath.

"What did you wish for?" Bard asked curiously, glancing back at the tree.

"Now, see, it won't come true if I tell you," I replied slyly, though I linked our hands together with a sideways look at him from under my lashes, conveying wordlessly that I had been wishing for _him. _His eyes darkened and he smiled tenderly, while Alvar groaned good naturedly and quickened his pace.

We reached the market an hour later, having taken our time showing Bard over the lands, to find it already bustling and full of people. The stalls had been set up as usual, on a large grassy field just before the beginnings of the handful of stone houses with red tiled roofs that made up the village. Bard tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and stepped easily into the tide of villagers, though I could not fail to notice Slecg, the Captain of his Guard, standing at least a head taller than most. The man nodded at Bard and soon enough we were unobtrusively guarded as he slowly walked behind us, flanked by more men behind him.

"You brought the entire Guard," I said dryly, staring back at the large, light brown haired man for a moment and blushing when he winked with an easy grin. The villagers parted for him, some turning in surprise to take in the large man in a mail shirt and thick leather vest, though I was willing to bet that almost all would have never seen Bard in person before and hence would not have deduced that we were guarded, and so I would hopefully not need to explain to the women who were already gawking at the handsome man who was walking with me that he was not, in fact, one of us at all.

"It was only good fortune that stopped them from setting up camp at your uncle's home," Bard said with a roll of his eyes. "Apparently a king cannot ride East at a moment's notice."

"I'm surprised they let you get this far at all," I admitted and Bard mumbled something under his breath, stopping to look at a table with an endless amount of silver bracelets in the style I was wearing.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"I said, they don't mind because I have an heir already," he answered awkwardly, his eyes trained on the silver. "D'you think Tilda would like one?"

I opened my mouth to reply, then blushed furiously when his words sunk in. I looked again at Slecg who was watching us with shining eyes, his shoulders shaking as if he had guessed exactly what Bard had just said. Bard cleared his throat and I turned to him again, to see a hopeful smile on his face.

"I think she would," I said finally, laughing when Bard blew out the breath he had been holding.

"I am sorry," he mumbled. "You and I haven't discussed…" Bard broke off with a grimace.

"It's all right." I shrugged and bent over the table. "But tell me one thing."

"Anything," he said honestly, our heads almost knocking as I turned to smile widely at him as we both examined the bracelets.

"Can Slecg hear us?"

Bard snorted and stood up straight, exchanging an amused look with his Captain which confirmed my suspicion that Slecg could either read lips, or he could indeed hear us. Ignoring their wordless communication, my fingers brushed over the silver until they settled on a set engraved with light blue swirling lines. Without a second thought, I raised my head to begin bargaining, and lost my tongue when I came face to face with Rustam, the trader that had escorted me to Dorwinion. He was watching us with a quiet, thoughtful look that changed to an amused smile when Bard turned back around and smiled in a friendly manner.

"My friend," Bard grinned. "It has been a long time."

"Aye, it has," Rustam answered with a smile and bent his head, acknowledging that he was conversing with a King.

The two men spoke for a short while, enough for me to understand that Rustam had been travelling along the road to Dale and back for almost as long as Dale's markets had been in existence, a mere few months after the death of the dragon. If Bard noticed that Rustam looked to me often, he did not mention it, though after we walked away with a red drawstring pouch filled with the bracelets, he made a point of resting a hand on the small of my back.

"Are there challengers, betrothed wife?" he said lowly into my ear, his breath tickling my neck as he chuckled.

"Oh, many," I said blandly, enjoying the way his hand daringly slid to hold onto my waist. The village women that passed us raised an eyebrow at me and pursed their lips, but the men clapped Bard on the shoulder – word had spread of how he had survived Iohan, and so I had no reservations about pausing to stand on my toes and whisper into his ear. "Sometimes I have to bat them away with a frypan."

"A frypan? My poor little fishwife," he returned, the hand at my waist growing warmer and heavier.

I danced away from his hold with a laugh, and grabbed his hand to catch up to Alvar, stopping every now and then to look at the wares on tables placed every few feet or so. There were people everywhere, and we weaved throughout them, often pausing to return a hailed greeting when someone recognised me. Without fail, Bard was greeted with a booming laugh by all of Iohan's friends, and they took to him immediately, until soon enough he was led away to a cluster of chairs at the side of the market and a tankard shoved into his hand. He looked back at me with an apologetic shrug but I waved him away with a laugh and continued to walk with Alvar, making a slow but steady way towards the far end of the market.

By the time we had reached the far end of the market, I had my arms full of gifts; the first few were paid by coins I had saved, but, embarrassingly, Slecg had followed with a small pouch thrown to him by Bard and the brooches, sweets, small clay works, hair clips, scented oils and ribbons for the children and friends in Dale were paid for with coins from the purse of Bard himself. Slecg stayed at a close distance as I selected each gift, though soon enough I bid him to walk with us, smiling awkwardly when he bowed and held his arm out to escort me.

"Best get used to it," he said with a grin. "That is, if Bard finally plucked up the courage to ask you?"

I spluttered in response, coughing over the little soft square of ground almond conserve that I had begun to eat moments before. "Plucked up the courage?"

"How now, fishwife," he said with a bellow of laughter, patting my hand when my cheeks coloured at the realisation that he did seem to have Elven ears. Or very large ones, at any rate.

"He's been harping on about it for months," Slecg confided, immediately handing over the pouch of coins as soon as I stopped and ran my hands over some Harad silk.

"_Months_?" I exclaimed with raised eyebrows, then decisively chose three different colours of silk: purple, blue and…

"Green?" Slecg put in with a waggle of his eyebrows, and I instantly dropped the material and childishly poked out my tongue, then selected a beautiful, shimmering gold instead.

"Much better," the Captain pronounced, and added the cloth bag of purchases to the ever growing pile in his arms.

"If you weren't being a perfectly good packhorse at this moment, Captain, I think I might shove you in the sea myself." My words were tempered with an exaggerated pursing of my lips. Slecg scrunched his mouth up.

"Does the fishwife not wish to know just how long the King's been mooning over her, then?"

I stopped in front of a stall with a wide hipped, smiling woman standing behind the table.

"Buy something from here, would you?" Slecg said loudly, winking at the black haired woman and in revenge, I emptied the entire pouch of coins onto the table and watched him wince as his arms were covered yet again in my packages of the woman's oils, dried flowers and, after a little thought, leather tags for Bain, engraved with the image of a horse and rider.

"Happy?" I asked gleefully, bursting into laughter when his knees buckled slightly, though he still managed to shoot a suggestive look to the woman behind the stall.

"Oh, very," he replied wolfishly, ignoring the roll of my eyes.

We strolled (or rather, I strolled, Alvar strode and Slecg stumbled) towards the end of the stalls, stopping in front of the small makeshift paddocks filled with livestock.

"I'm not holding onto a bloody chicken for you," Slecg muttered and immediately I paused in front of a box of little yellow chicks and then snorted with laughter when Slecg hailed Bard in relief.

"She's a worry, this woman of yours," he pronounced as soon as Bard caught up with us, a small linen bag looped over his arm. "Spent all of your money, she did."

Bard shrugged easily and reached for me. "No matter. All my riches for her smile, after all."

My cheeks coloured and I hastened to him, though I was quick to defend myself. "Only because your kind and honourable Captain wished me to spend it all purchasing favours at a stall run by the innkeeper's _wife._"

Slecg baulked and shook his head. "Warg's teeth - not that white haired man? He said he'd put a snake in my bed if I took one look at the pretty young thing he's got as a barmaid. How was I s'posed to know she was his daughter?"

Bard held a hand up with a snigger. "Steady now – you don't want me to tell all of this to Dagny, do you? Hilda's sister_,"_ he whispered by way of explanation in my ear and I clapped my hands.

"I've an idea," I announced, noticing Alvar leading a tall black stallion out of the corner of my eye, and placing my hands on my hips to stand wider to make sure he wasn't seen. "You-" I pointed at Slecg, who was grinning from ear to ear, "tell me how long Bard's been mooning over me or _I'll _tell Dagny."

Bard blanched white and swatted a hand at Slecg's trunk of an arm that came to rest over his shoulders.

"Now, now, fishwife," Slecg said peaceably, "Dagny'd serve my parts to Bain for target practice if she thought I was looking elsewhere," he began, tactfully ignoring the very unladylike hoot of laughter that shot out of my mouth, "but there's no woman, not even one as lovely as you, that compares to my lady of Laketown. And I would've told you about this lout here anyway!"

"Well, there's no need to now, is there?" Bard nodded his head firmly. "By royal decree," he added in an important voice, catching me around the waist and bending his head to speak as privately as he could manage with an Elven eared gutter mouth Captain at his side. "Are we about finished?"

"Not even started!" I crowed, then took his shoulders and turned him around, until he came face to face with a beaming Alvar and a stallion that taller than even my bear of an uncle. Sensing our surprise, the warhorse tossed his head and snorted, his eyes darting over the three of us. He nudged Alvar in the shoulder, almost sending him flying, and Slecg tensed at our side.

"Whassat?" the Captain managed finally, his eyes trained solely on the stallion.

"Ah," I said proudly and squeezed Bard's hand. "This is _Arsta._ He will be making the journey to Dale with us."

"Sauron's balls," Slecg breathed. "_Why? _He looks like he'll eat us in our sleep. Like a fecking oliphaunt."

"Have you _seen _an oliphaunt?" Alvar piped up curiously.

Slecg guffawed. "Lad, you think I _haven't? _They look just like that!"

I turned to look at the black stallion, his coat shining in the morning sun. He was still taking us in, though not once had he shifted from his tall, straight stance. He was almost completely black, except for one white sock. Utterly perfect.

"He's for Bain, isn't he," Bard said slowly and I nodded with a grin.

"He is! Isn't he just perfect?"

"Perfect is not the word that immediately comes to mind," Slecg muttered but Bard just shook his head with a dazed expression, then turned to face me fully. Slecg, recognising something in the bewildered face of his sovereign, swivelled until his back was to us, muttering something about oliphaunts and aphrodisiacs.

"You bought him?" Bard said plainly and I nodded, biting my lip to try and force back the catlike, beaming smile. "You bought an Eastern warhorse for my son?" he pressed, taking my arm. "You came all of this way, to buy a warg of a horse for my son to ride?"

"I did," I began firmly. "And he'll protect Bain more than any man or soldier c-" I started to say, though in the next second Bard's lips were crushed to mine and my breath was lost, swallowed up by his mouth moving ardently on mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth while his hands moulded me against his body.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of whooping and whistling entered my ears, but it seemed all too far off as the warmth of him burned my eyelids, his scent overpowering that of the horses nearby, his hands pulling me against him so that I could feel every inch of his body-

"_Anne!_"

"Oho – you've done it now, bargeman!" Slecg grinned wickedly as we sprung guiltily apart at the sound of my uncle's booming voice carrying over the crowd.

"Damnation, Anne!" Iohan bellowed. "Damn-ruddy-nation!"

"Damnation? Goes quite well… Buggeration, shiteteration, wargeration, _damnation_," Slecg mumbled to himself, repeating the last oath over a few times to keep it in his memory for use later.

"What is bloody going on here?" My uncle glowered at us both, completely unfazed by the warhorse the size of a warg that had shifted on its feet, nudging Alvar's head until he was forced to give Arsta enough head to sidle over to us. Too late, Iohan turned with a scowl to the horse, catching a blow to the cheek as Arsta tossed his head indignantly.

"Ha!" I clapped again and cooed at the warhorse, then fished around in my pocket and offered Arsta an old carrot in reward. "See?" I nudged Bard. "He loves us already."

"_Us_?!" Iohan's hand twitched at his belt, as if he might just rip off the long piece of leather and whip into Bard's hide then and there.

"_You-_" Iohan pointed at Bard, who was scowling, "explain this whole thing! Why're you kissing _my _daughter in front of the whole ruddy village? Morgoth's mouldy arse, who do you think you _are_?"

"Oh," I hissed in exasperation, hoping to avoid another 'I'm the King of fecking Dale!' moment, and then slid out the comb from my hair. "He thinks he's my betrothed, uncle! See - silver!" I wagged it in front of his face, jerking my chin up as Iohan's eyes widened in surprise.

"Is that right?" He turned to Bard, who was now staring at the both of us, no doubt wondering if he could renegade on his proposal.

"Er, yes," my betrothed managed, and scratched his beard.

"'Er, yes'?!" Iohan quoted, unimpressed. "Are you or aren't you?"

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but my uncle held a hand up with a glower. "No, you're not!" he growled. "Where's _your _silver, bargeman?"

"My what?" Bard spread his hands in confusion.

"Anne!" Iohan hollered over his shoulder as he began to stride off towards the market, making a beeline for the engraver's stall. "Move your legs, girl!"

I stared at my uncle, who stopped and waited for me with his hands on his hips, then looked back at Bard. "Erm… just wait there a minute, would you?" I said meekly, blatantly ignoring how Slecg was doubled over with laughter, and smiled apologetically at Bard, who merely looked dazed. He nodded silently and shared a look with Arsta, man and horse bonding over the ridiculousness of Eastern women and their male guardians.

I scrambled after Iohan and finally managed to catch up with him a few stalls away from the engraver. "Uncle!" I huffed, out of breath. "Uncle!"

"Anne," he said finally, and stopped so suddenly that I ploughed into his back. "Sorry."

"For what?" I asked, holding my head at the discomfort of smacking into his shoulder blade.

"I should've told him. About the silver," Iohan supplied with a grimace. "I'm your guardian – your mam's not here, my brother's not here… I should've told him what I expected of him, but I didn't. And he's not so bad. Could be worse. You might be far older than most brides – oh, sorry again," he added when I narrowed my eyes and stomped my foot. "Anyway. Come on, let's get this over with."

Suddenly my throat felt thick and constricted with the knowledge that Iohan had finally, and verbally, supplied his approval of Bard. I had a fleeting thought that I wished that my mother and father were here to see this day, and yet I felt only peace.

"Uncle…" I laid a hand on his arm. "You know, I couldn't have asked for a better father. Not if I tried to create one myself."

Iohan's face was as hard as stone for a long moment, then it crumpled into an emotional grin. "Come on, now. Less nattering, more betrothing, hmm?"

He held out an arm and I went to him, letting him tuck me against his side. "And if that bargeman ever hurts you, I'll chop him up and serve him to that new pet warg of yours." I swatted him away but chortled all the same, shyly ducking my head as we approached the engraver and a small crowd began to gather. Despite Iohan's comment about my age, I was still a somewhat young, unmarried woman and somewhat young, unmarried women only approached an engraver's stall for one thing in the East. Women soon stood behind me, clapping and singing, and out of nowhere flowers were soon being woven into my braids, tiny dried flowers of purple that, from the familiar golden skin of the girls carrying them, came from Rhûn. I blushed and tried to hide my face, but the crowd grew ever larger. Shyness prevented me from turning to greet them, the women that had seen me birthed, but the roar of the crowd that erupted when the blue silk pouch of engraved coins was placed in my hand by the grinning engraver could not be ignored, and I turned with a grimace and bobbed an awkward curtsy, then clung onto Iohan's arm.

"_This _is why I wanted _you _to come to the market," I grumbled with a pointed jerk of my finger towards the crowd that would follow us all the way to Bard.

Iohan let out a loud laugh and clapped my shoulder. "I knew you'd try to listen to us last night, _azizam. _And I knew that you'd want to avoid all of this, but you shouldn't. It's what your mother would have wanted."

I mumbled a few unintelligible sounds and tried to plaster a smile on my features, though my lips were soon quivering and I gave up, nerves taking over when Bard spotted us returning. Slecg took in the crowd and my uncle's usual severe demeanour, and began to stand in front of Bard, though thankfully he waved Slecg off with a confused smile.

"What's all this?" Bard asked in surprise. "Have you got flowers in your hair?"

"Erm…" I began, then coughed. Iohan rolled his eyes beside me and took the little pouch of silk, then, loud enough for the crowd to hear, began to address Bard.

"Bard of Dale!" Iohan boomed. "Will you accept these coins, given to you by my daughter?"

Comprehension dawned on his face, and his mouth split into a shy grin. He reached for my hand, though Iohan swatted it away with a "not yet!" and Bard cleared his throat and gave a loud: "Aye."

Iohan then took the pouch and placed it into Bard's hand, pausing for a moment to slide out my hair comb again and display it to the crowd, and the men winced in unison when the women began to 'ooh' and 'aah' over the 'very Third Age' style of silver that Bard had chosen. Next, Iohan held up both of our hands, then placed Bard's on top of mine, and covered them with his own larger grasp. With a bellowing voice, he announced that we were now to be trothplighted, and with a sly wink to Bard, he declared that the new betrothed husband of his daughter would foot the cost for three barrels of ale to celebrate.

"Is that also a tradition?" Bard asked into my ear when he finally stood behind me and put his arms around my waist while we watched the men roll in the new barrels and hand out tankards, despite the morning hour.

"Not at all," I said with a grin, then tilted my head back until I could see him looking down at me. "Is it all right? Agreeable?"

"Being betrothed to you?" he confirmed, bending down to smell the flowers in my hair after I nodded. "I can't help but think that there can't be a man within three hundred leagues of us that has more good fortune than I."

"Only three hundred leagues?" I teased, turning to let him hold me to his chest.

"More," he answered easily with a kiss to my hair. "And what of you, my Eastern woman – my fishwife? Is this all right? Agreeable?"

"Quite agreeable," I said dreamily, though I soon laughed when he tilted my face towards him to continue what we had begun before we were so abruptly interrupted.

* * *

The road back to Dale seemed far longer than it had, even though we were making such good time that no doubt we would arrive within four days instead of five. While Bard's guard and Bard himself were in good spirits, spending much of the day singing drinking songs and tossing fruit around to each other, I spent most of the first day snivelling.

"Are you _sure _you want to come back?" Bard asked gingerly on the second dawn, when we were saddling the horses from our stop at an inn in readiness for another day on the road.

"Aye," I sniffed. "I do, I do."

"But you miss them?"

"Aye," I answered glumly, turning in to his embrace to bury my face in his chest.

The parting with Iohan and Alvar had been harder than any – perhaps because I knew that I would not return, not for some years. After all, it was no longer my decision alone; Iohan knew it, too, and between clasps of Bard's arm in farewell, he demanded that we return sooner, rather than later. The dawn that we left was nothing short of beautiful – a cool wind blew the sea air around us, and the sun rose quickly, its heat countering the breeze. I could smell the permeating scent of the orchard and herb garden, and loaded my saddlebags with pomegranates and sprigs of mint, tearfully promising to Iohan and Alvar that we would meet again soon. There was the unspoken agreement that since we were now betrothed, we would meet next at my wedding, a word that was still taking some getting used to, but neither Bard nor I had any idea when that may be.

"Why don't you make the journey to Dale?" Bard asked politely. "We have many guest quarters, you'll be welcomed well."

Iohan rolled his eyes. "Enough of that, bargeman. You're as good as a son to me now, and we both know your home's no bigger than mine. But we might come. One day, anyway."

Not even the sight of twelve mounted men was enough to convince Iohan that Bard was, in fact, who he said he was, and the first day of riding was spent with Slecg conjuring up various scenarios upon which Iohan's realisation would finally come about. If I hadn't been crying, I would have wailed with laughter when bets were made and coins promised, but as it was I was far too sullen to enjoy the good cheer.

Arsta was the only reprieve on that first day – he was a cantankerous horse, and suffered none of the Guard to ride him, though I managed to bribe him with an apple and jump up, holding on for dear life when he bucked once.

"Gods!" Slecg shook his head. "You really think Bain will be able to handle him?"

"Of course!" I shot back. "He's a better rider than you, after all."

The laughter of Bard's guard rang out through the woods, and Slecg shook his head. "Can't we leave this one back with her bear of an uncle?"

Bard turned from where he had been riding at the front of our small formation and grinned. "Sorry, Slecg," he called, "I've only just found her, she's not going anywhere."

* * *

The days passed quickly once my heart settled down, and soon enough we were only a few short hours away from Dale. The land had morphed from the rolling, vineyard covered hills of Dorwinion, back to the flat, green fields of the farmlands that surrounded the city. They were covered in spring wheat, and now and then we were hailed by farmers acknowledging their returning king. I tried not to take notice when Bard sat up straighter in the saddle, though I did make a face when he spurred his horse forwards so he was riding at the head of the group, and away from me. He shot me an apologetic smile and I shrugged in response, knowing that our return to Dale would mark the end of our carefree days of riding, where I was free to nestle into his side at the inns on the way, or even in Dorwinion where I had slept beside him each night.

"Not to worry lass," Slecg said slyly from his place beside me. "Soon enough you'll be locked in his chambers and only let out when your belly is round and full of more than just that wine you love so much."

My face flushed scarlet. "Slecg!"

Bard turned around at my exclamation of surprise, one handsome eyebrow raised, but Slecg waved him off and he looked back towards the mountain looming ever closer.

"What?" the Captain said innocently, one hand held up. "You know what they say – only buy a heifer in calf!"

"For Valar's sake, Slecg!"

"What?" he said again. "He's my own man, lovely Anne, I know him better than anyone."

"No, he's not," I hurled back with a smirk. "He's very much mine."

"Ah, there's the fishwife," Slecg drawled, and I huffed in response.

"She's always under the surface if you prod too much. Don't you dare say it!" I said sternly, wagging a finger at the Captain's mouth that opened in no doubt yet another vulgar comment. "Enough of you. I'd sew your mouth up if you were my husband."

"Oh, no you wouldn't," he grinned wolfishly. "Too much talent to put to wa-"

"SLECG!" Bard roared from the front of the line, and I threw my head back and cried with laughter, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.

With relief, our small group soon looked on Dale, perched at the top of the mountain, the golden roofs glistening in the sun. Bard could not hide his smile when we saw three small figures waiting at the top of the mountain, waving madly, though too far away for their words to be discernable in the warm spring winds. We approached the great gates at a leisurely pace now, the guards laughing and joking together, and Bard grinning so charmingly that I was half of a mind to demand a wedding the very next day.

"Happy now?" My betrothed asked, and I smiled.

"Aye," I said shyly, ducking my head with a blush when he held out a hand and squeezed my fingers. Our small moment was cut short, however, for before we had even approached the gates, a group of dwarves rounded the corner near the walls and hailed the King of Dale.

"Mighty eager, ain't he," Slecg said from beside me when we made out the figure of a younger, red haired dwarf striding purposefully towards us with a folded letter tucked under his arm.

"Weren't you eager to marry your sweetheart?" I countered.

"Me? Oho, I did it at knifepoint. Couldn't hide her belly from her Da, and I was the culprit," the Captain said with a booming laugh, and I shook my head, dazed.

"You men of Laketown are something else," I managed finally, and dismounted along with the rest of the Guard when the dwarf reached us.

"Hail, King Bard of Dale," the dwarf said clearly and bowed low from the waist, then turned to me and held his arm out and bowed again, the way I had seen younger dwarves bow to the Lady Dís. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, and stepped back instinctively, though Bard's low chuckle in my ear and hand at my back kept me rooted to the spot.

"Gimli, isn't it?" Bard said politely and the red haired dwarf nodded with a grin half disguised by his beard. It was at that point that I realised that I would never make a very good royal wife, for I gave a loud "Oh!" in surprise.

"Gimli!" I said his name very, very slowly, and the dwarf shot me a wink. "I am glad to finally make your acquaintance."

"Aye, and I yours, lady Anne," Gimli said cheerfully. "My apologies for being so out of sorts when we last should have met."

"Nothing to it now, is there?" I said with a pointed look at the letter, and Gimli shook his head with a joyful smile, before he bowed again and extended the letter towards Bard, who took it dubiously.

"A request for an audience, King Bard," Gimli explained. "From the Crown Prince and King of Erebor."

"Ah, of course," Bard said dryly. "And when do they propose this audience to be held?"

"At your earliest convenience, of course, King Bard," Gimli said immediately, the courtly politeness making Bard snort with laughter.

"Aye, aye, all right, then," Bard nodded, long resigned to the idea, for I had heard him going back and forth about the inevitable meeting with Slecg during our ride to Dale.

"In the morning, shall we say?" Gimli confirmed, and beamed when Bard nodded again. Remembering himself, Bard bowed his head shortly to the young dwarf, and turned on his heel to walk up the hill.

"I beg your pardon, master Gimli," I said under my breath as I walked past, "but you haven't been waiting here all this time, have you?"

"For a week? Mahal's beard, no." Gimli shuddered. "Only since the morning."

I looked up at the sun, noted that we were already well into the afternoon, and snorted with unsurprised laughter. "Job well done, then," I congratulated him and grinned when he kissed my knuckles in a kind farewell.

When Bard called my name, I curtsied quickly and hurried to walk with him. I led Edelind and Arsta's reins were tethered to hers, and the horses tossed their heads at my impatience to be beside my betrothed, though to my delight Bard only gestured for me again.

"Sounds interesting," I said, taking care to create a very innocent tone to my voice.

"I can see through you now, betrothed wife," Bard said with a smirk and let his hand fall so he held onto my waist. "You wish to attend tomorrow morning?"

"Oh," I cast my head down demurely, grinning at the ground. "Only if my betrothed husband wishes."

Bard looked to the skies, as if marvelling at the nature of women, then fixed me with a knowing smile. "Your place is by my side," he said gently, and squeezed my waist, bending to catch my mouth that had opened in surprise. His hand brushed my cheek, the touch carrying a shock of heat, and when he released my mouth I leaned against the warm column of his neck.

Only then did I remember what I wished to ask him when I had taken note of the small company of dwarves.

"Bard? Why were the dwarves dressed for battle if they were only coming from Erebor to Dale?"

Bard's face darkened and he rubbed his forehead. "We shall discuss it tomorrow at the meeting, another reason why you should be there. But for this night, I should like to be with my family," he concluded with a kiss to my forehead. "I believe we have gifts to distribute, do we not?"

I tilted my head with a smile and nodded, outwardly happy though inwardly worried at his seriousness regarding the armoured dwarves. Though, if he wished to spend the evening in joy, then I could not reproach him for it.

"Ready?" Bard asked and I looked up at the gates, and at his arm that was now politely held out to guide me formally inside the city. The guards spread out around us, and two occupied the space behind our horses. There would be no turning back after this moment – the moment that I walked into Dale with its King by my side, guarded by his guards, escorted on his arm. I swallowed nervously, searched my soul for courage and placed my hand on his arm.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

"All my riches for her smile" – a Jeff Buckley lyric.

I'm not sure if any Aussies are reading this, but I based Anne's outfit on the one worn by Sal in 'The Secret River'. I can only find one photo in google, though, and not the best, but for international readers - feel free to search for that and you'll see one pic among many in the results.

Kaia – thank you!

VirgCoup – oh, thank you. Me too. Though it is becoming a problem as I have begun writing another Bard/OC story for when this finishes, but I'm so attached to this pairing that it will take me a while to get my head into it another.

Eryndil – none of their own making, anyway. We're on the home stretch now. And thank you! I agree re the canonical points. I don't often see (perhaps I never have?) that point about Bard's coronation.

IntotheMoon – my intention was accomplished, then!

ColorGuardianoftheGalaxy – he is, isn't he. Sigh.

XtaticBlueSoul – Isn't he just! The first two paragraphs are for you, then ;)

Minna – thank you! Mine, too.

RedStalkingDeath – just to hear that you enjoyed it is always enough!


	27. Chapter 27

The royal party from Erebor arrived an hour before the midday meal was to be served. Whether that was by design, it could not be seen, though if an announcement was to be made there was no better time of day, for any who worked within the royal court would be present for the meal. It was a beautiful day – fine and warm, the sun shining in a blue and cloudless sky. There was no cool breeze from the water and already the friendly warmth of spring was beginning to lessen as Dale entered the final month before another sweltering summer.

It was a beautiful day, but I was in a foul mood. Bain had deposited Birna on the doorstep of the hall in time for the serving of warm oats and toast, and she had eaten heartily. Bain had stayed long enough to see the first bite enter her mouth, but he had left soon after with a peck to my cheek – off to Arsta, no doubt, if his whoops and jumps of joy the evening before had been anything to go by. Guilt struck me again when I noticed how Birna's collarbones sat so rigidly against her pale skin, and seeing her so close to me showed that her copper hair hung far too limply for a girl of her age. Tilda and Sigrid sat with us, and though neither girl spoke to Birna, the difference between the three young women was staggering. Where Tilda and Sigrid carried a healthy softness to their bodies, Birna was tiny. Where the sister's faces were happy and full, Birna's cheeks were near hollow. The anger of seeing her in such a state was enough to send me into a mood so black that not even Bard's presence beside us pushed me out of it. He was stern with her, but kind – each word out of his mouth was soft as he commanded her to have another bowl of porridge, and handed her the second cup of warm tea that I brought, winking when he smelled the honey that I'd added by the spoonful.

Soon after, she followed me into my small kitchen like a wraith; her light steps made barely any sound. I tutted at her, shaking my head when she stood in the corner, but she spoke not a word. But the coaxing was to begin slowly. When I was young, mother had fed my penchant for sweets until my soul was afire with love for the golden grains of raw sugar, and to this day there is nothing that can set my mouth watering more than the sight of a loaf of sugar, waiting so patiently for my hands to craft it into delicacies. Sugar warms the blood – and so I began by seating her at the bench and bidding her to dip a finger into powdered sugar, noting with pleasure how a spark of delight had shone in her eyes for the briefest of moments when she tasted the sweetness. I showed her how to grind it, the right angle to hold the pestle, and even though her arms were near as thin as wires, she took to the task without complaint.

After the powdered sugar came the gift of a large jar of plum jam, enough for her mother to have on slices of bread for breakfast for a fortnight at least. We would start slowly, I told her, and she nodded her head with a little blush when I said that she would join us now for each meal. I gave her my trust, and said that each day she should come to me on her own, without Bain, without a safety net – for what could I teach her if she was not willing to extend her wings? Birna nodded again, and when she hesitated on her way out the door, I placed a square of conserve in her hand with a grin, rubbing my hands together when it soon disappeared into her mouth as she walked back to the hall.

I returned to my tasks and finished them quickly, grateful that I still had not a small amount of candied nuts left from the wedding of Hilda's daughter that I had attended before leaving for Dorwinion. And so my tray was finished quickly, with honey cakes and nuts, and cuts of fresh fruit drizzled with honey, cream and tiny flecks of dried rose petals from my purchases at the market in the village in Dorwinion. Bard took one look and raised an eyebrow, though when I daringly held a spoon to his mouth and fed him the cream and roses, he let out a long breath and held me against him, the tray forgotten on the bench while I tasted the sweetness of the flowers on his tongue.

When the guests were announced by a shout at the doors to the royal hall, he turned me around and undid my apron, his mouth on my neck and his hands brushing over my back. I leaned into him with a sigh, eyes closed and heart hammering, until I could bear no more and wagged a finger.

"Your heart's made of poison," I accused him. "Eat more sugar, so you will be kind to me."

He made a strangled sound at the back of his throat and opened the door for me while I held the tray. "I am nothing but kind."

"Wrong - you are a tease of a man," I said honestly. "What do you expect me to do, when you do… whatever it is that you do."

"Oh, betrothed wife," he leaned down to my ear and pushed a stray hair away from my neck. "Are you telling me to cease? To never touch you again?" Even as he spoke, his lips touched my skin, and I drew in a shaking breath.

"You are a cruel, cruel man," I managed, tilting my head and sagging against him as his teeth bit down gently, until his abrupt halting left me cold and scowling.

I grumbled under my breath and nudged him with my hip, until he held the final door open to the main hall. Erland had already shown Thorin and Fili into Bard's study, and so all that was left to do was share silent squeals with Sigrid behind Bard's back and make our way into the study, ignoring the roll of his eyes when he caught sight of our antics. I waited as Bard and Sigrid entered before me, then pressed my lips together with a furious blush when Bard turned and held out a hand to me, his tall frame not enough to disguise the satisfied, knowing smile on Thorin's face as he stood to make his bow.

With relief, I noted that Kili and Lady Dis were in attendance, and Dwalin stood with his back against the wall near one of the windows. The sight of the tattooed warrior made me pause for a moment, wondering why it was that he was required when surely we were only discussing the betrothal. The thought soon left me upon noticing Fili's smile at Sigrid's entrance, and I placed the tray on the table in the middle of the room. All came forward to present their bows, and for one amusing minute we were all tied up with curtsies and bobbed heads as we navigated the courtly minefield of the polite level of dipping one's head depending on royal status. Kili gave up in the end, and bowed to Sigrid and I with a laughing smile as his short beard nearly touched the floor, though soon enough we were all seated, Sigrid and I with Dwalin, Fili, Kili and Dís together, Thorin and Bard on the only armchairs. I shifted on the bench, and ran my hands over the sheep skin cover to try and drum the nerves away, though Sigrid's hand soon joined mine and we shared a futile, sheepish grin.

There was a large stack of papers on the table in the middle of all of the chairs, bound by a glistening leather cover. Fili's eyes darted to it every now and again, though mostly he was content to smile in Sigrid's direction, the gleam of triumph in his gaze barely tempered by Bard's unimpressed look.

Finally, the conversation began.

"King Bard," Thorin began, leaning forward in his chair, the movement drawing attention to his mail shirt. Again, I felt the confusion of the night before when the hilt of Dwalin's sword brushed my side, and I wondered not for the first time why each member of the dwarven company was armed to the teeth.

"King Thorin," Bard returned plainly. "We can do away with the formalities for the morning."

"If you wish it," Thorin said with a smile, then subtly stretched back confidently in his chair. "Then you know why we are here."

Fili cleared his throat and moved forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Aye, I have not been discrete, King Bard, and for that I offer my sincerest apologies."

Sigrid's chest froze for a moment, and I squeezed her fingers when Bard waved a hand in the air.

"Your persistence has been… not unwelcome, at least that is how I understand it," Bard replied with a pointed look at Sigrid's blushing cheeks. Fili grinned widely and ducked his head.

"Aye, it seems so," he acknowledged. "And I am all the luckier for it."

Bard raised an eyebrow at Lady Dís, whose lips were pressed firmly together to cover a proud smile, and the two parents shrugged their shoulders.

The room was silent for a moment, until Bard opened his mouth again. "Well…?" he trailed off, spreading his hands.

"I wish to ask for your daughter's hand, King Bard," Fili said immediately, though he did not once look at the King in question, only at his eldest daughter. "It would be the greatest honour to have her for my wife, the brightest jewel in Dale."

"I have spoken with my daughter at length about your suit, Fili," Bard said honestly. "And you know as well as I did that I had concerns. I still have concerns, but I am not one to deny her anything if her heart wishes it. So you may be assured that you have my blessing and my approval for your union, though Sigrid will give you the final answer."

I let out a breath at Bard's words, and smiled widely on him, wondering if there could be no moment more perfect than this, until Fili cleared his throat again.

"Sigrid…" he began tentatively, his knuckles white as they gripped onto his knees. She leant forward automatically on the bench, as if to catch every word, and he smiled again, drawing confidence from her eagerness. "Sigrid, Princess of Dale, there is nothing that would grant me greater happiness than to have you by my side, as my wife in Erebor."

The room was silent, only the sounds of the bustling city coming through the open window could be heard. Dís was holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling at the corners like parchment. Thorin sat as if he was made of stone, though his eyes closed for a moment and he sighed, before a slow, pleased smile spread over his thin lips. It was then that Bard cut in, taking heed from the giggles about to erupt from his daughter's chest.

"Fili?"

"Aye, Bard?"

"Take my daughter for a walk."

Fili stared at Bard for a moment, uncomprehending, and then a smile broke out onto his face when he understood and rose to his feet, holding his hand out to Sigrid. Bard stood and took his daughter's hand, offering her a small, gentle smile, and laid it into Fili's waiting palm, covering them with his own. In no time they were out of the room, their laughter soon coming out as one muffled, joyous sound as soon as the door closed, and Bard shrugged his shoulders when Thorin slapped his thigh and shook his head, his own booming laugh joining his nephew and his new betrothed wife.

* * *

"Take my daughter for a walk!" Dís exclaimed, sitting down with a thud on one of the stone benches in the garden. "I've never heard it done quite like that."

"Yes," I mused, folding myself down beside her and leaning my head against the wall, drinking in the sun and the scent of the surrounding rose bushes. "Quite perfect, was it not?"

Dís' low voice began to chuckle, then the sound of her laughter rang out through the garden. "Perfect indeed! Perhaps it is a Laketown tradition? Anne?"

I held my hands up innocently, catching a glimpse of Sigrid and Fili sitting together by a tree covered in jasmine towards the end of the garden, then turned resolutely away. "I wouldn't know."

"But you've been for a walk?"

"Well, yes," I said slowly, not catching her meaning. "I've been for many walks."

"And you are betrothed, are you not?"

I took one look at her twinkling eyes and burst into laughter. "How did you know? Sometimes I think the House of Durin can see into my very soul."

"Ah," Dís patted my arm. "No, but we are remarkably good at reading situations. For instance: when the King's sweetheart is part of a private appointment."

"Well, now, that's just obvious, isn't it?" I teased, then offered her one of the small bowls of nuts that we had taken on our way out to the garden, soon after the men had begun to talk about the finer points of the betrothal. Dís had shepherded me out immediately after Thorin had mentioned a two year engagement and Dwalin had had to ram his hand to my back to stop me from choking on a piece of cake when Bard had grumbled that in his day, a week did just fine. So far, they had settled on a year and a day.

Dís' fingers flitted over the nuts, her ice blue eyes darting every now and again to the newly betrothed couple. They disappeared again on another turn along one of the paths, and she turned to me with a sigh.

"And what of the rest? Will you tell me your thoughts?"

"On what? The betrothal?"

Dís sighed again and shook her head. She raised a finger to the sun and pointed towards the sky east of the city, where very faint clouds could be seen. "Not of the joining of our children, but of the war."

I found I was gaping at her, my mouth half open like an idiot dawdling on a village stile. The words would not come, for there were none ready for me to speak. What war? Why would I have thoughts on a war? Bard had not spoken of war, never once had he mentioned the word. Very slowly, the pit in my stomach began to unfold itself, as if it was connecting all of the strange events over the weeks; the appearance of Gimli in full armour for a simple walk to Dale; the orc attacks on the farmlands to the East; Bard's anger at me travelling to Dorwinion without an armed escort. Even Rustam, a travelling trader, carried a sword and a bow and quiver looped around his back. The inns that we had stopped at on our way to Dorwinion had been quiet, none of the usual revelry and merriment, and the quietness had been so welcome for me that I had not stopped to wonder _why _it was so quiet to begin with. I had been such a fool. A deaf and blind fool.

"A war," Dís repeated slowly, her hand moving until it covered mine with a squeeze. "You saw Dwalin with us today, I know."

"Aye," I whispered, eyes closed, my voice thin. "I wondered why…"

"Bard has said nothing?"

"Nothing," I confirmed. "Nothing at all."

"Then perhaps I should not…"

I shook my head with a frown. "I wish to know," I said flatly.

Dís examined my face for a long moment. I do not know what she found there, in my expression that had become hard and demanding, for my chief fault was that, as Iohan said, I could not rest if there was something that needed to be known.

"Very well, then," she said, her smile as bitter as if she had bitten into a lemon. "There will be a war, perhaps it is only weeks away. The orcs are growing again, their numbers grow too large for us to ignore. And a mountain with wealth such as ours will always be a temptation for those who have no souls to begin with."

"And who is 'us'?"

"Erebor and Dale," Dís said simply, the faintest of shadows crossing her face for a short second.

"Not the Elves?" I thought back to when the Mirkwood Elves had joined us to feast and be merry the year before, when all of this had started. For all that they were detached and calm, no one could deny that they, too, were threatened if we were.

"Not the Elves," Dís nodded. "They have their own concerns." With a wave of her hand, she dismissed them instantly.

"They would help if they could," I said steadily, for who could look in the kind faces of those that had joined with us and not known their own desire for peace? Even I, a village girl of Dorwinion, knew of the King of the Woodland Realm and his tendency to isolate himself, but evil had found its way to enough borders in the lands that I could not place any blame with him.

"Perhaps."

I turned my head away. "What are _your _thoughts, then? For surely you did not ask mine just to remain silent." I gave a vague flick of my fingers in Sigrid and Fili's direction. "We are joined, now, are we not?"

Dís did not argue. "Aye, you have guessed right," she said bitterly. "The men decide the movements, and we women are left to guard the home and hearth, and to birth the slaughtered. Those are my thoughts."

As if to remind us that it should have been a spring of triumph, of ripe fruit and blossoming flowers, heartily growing wheat and never ending barrels of salted fish, the newly betrothed Sigrid and Fili came to stand before us with smiles, though when I looked further I saw that Fili's eyes did not carry the easy joy of his betrothed wife's. Sigrid, I thought, looked as if she had no other cares in the world. Then she, too, did not know what she would no doubt learn in time. Dís nodded at her son, the wordless instruction heeded after decades of practice, and Fili led Sigrid back into the royal house, though I prayed that he would not lead her to the study. Not yet.

"I have been blind," I admitted quietly. "So very blind."

"As have I," Dis said, her voice no louder than a whisper. "My son's will go to war again, my brother will go. My…" her voice broke off and she turned her ivory face to the sun. Immediately I thought of Dwalin, though I did not say it. "And now this, too." She waved a hand towards the door that Fili and Sigrid had disappeared through.

"Sigrid should be entertaining well wishers, having fresh herbs strewn at her feet, lavender on the floor of her bedroom. Not farewelling her betrothed, heavy of heart." I tried to keep the accusatory tone from my voice, though there was no way to hide the sourness of my words.

Dís shrugged. She was of warrior stock, the daughter and sister of a King. She had long accepted, though perhaps not welcomed, the duty that her sons were bound to.

"Fili would not wait," she said slowly. "And I would not deny him such happiness."

"Nor I," I replied vehemently. "Not for either of them. Such is life for us and ours," I concluded, my hands falling into my lap.

"You are no different," Dís said lightly, a colour returning to her voice. "Betrothed like a young maid in springtime beneath the apple trees."

I snorted with laughter and turned to her, seeing my smile mirrored in her face. "Aye, I am no different. I see all of the sun and none of the shadow, it seems."

"Broken reeds, the both of us," Dís decided, and I drew a little closer to her and held out the nut bowl again.

"Well fed broken reeds, then, if we must be broken at all."

"Aye," Dís agreed with a chuckle and held out a nut, both of us tapping our little sweets together as if they were glasses of wines from the table of the Lord of Dorwinion himself. "Well fed broken reeds."

I nodded. "Then shall we broken reeds talk of something other than war? I am weary of it already, and I do not think I am the best company in such a conversation, given we have agreed on my blindness."

"I would be glad to," Dís said with a shake of her head. "I have heard of nothing else for weeks."

Weeks. Bard had known for weeks? I brushed the uncomfortable thought aside, and ungracefully ground another nut against my back teeth.

"Say, Lady-"

"Dís," my friend said firmly. "Dís. I shall not call you Mistress Anne, so you shall not call me Lady Dís. Mahal forbid you should call me Princess, either. Dís, if you please."

"Dís, then," I said with a laugh. "Tell me of Dwarven weddings. Betrothals, and the like."

Again, she leaned back against the wall, her jet black hair carving a striking image against the stone. "Have you ever seen one?"

"Never in my life."

Dís shot me a sideways look and grinned. "Well, you wouldn't have. We keep our traditions close to our hearts – by custom, I shouldn't even tell you."

"That's convenient," I said dryly, smirking as she turned to me with a crooked smile.

"Do you know, Anne – I don't even think I can name one outsider who has witnessed a marriage inside the halls of Erebor. Not one."

"And now you will have far too many to count!"

"Ah, no. Not for the hand fastening, at least. Sigrid, of course, and Bard. Bain, Tilda. You," she added, the side of her mouth curving up.

I tapped my fingers on the bench and nodded. "My star has risen far higher than I ever thought possible."

Dís slapped her thigh and laughed, and again I was almost tricked into thinking I was conversing with her brother.

"What did you think would happen? Being betrothed to a king? Have you not thought of the crown that will come to you? The company you will keep?"

There was no hiding my scowl. "A woman's work is the same, whether married to a farmer or a king."

"Wrong," Dís said shortly. "You shall be a queen. The first woman in Dale. It is not the same, though of course you know it, which is perhaps why your frown looks like it has been branded onto your face."

"Oh," I huffed. "D'you know, I used to want a hop field and an apple orchard and a sheep run?"

Dís snorted and bent over, laughter wracking her body. "You would make a fine farmer."

"The best," I shot back. "The very best."

Dís shook her head. "I used to want a small home, to be the wife of a blacksmith, to churn out swords and horse shoes, an axe or two. A simple want."

"A nice want," I amended, laying a hand on her own and finding her fingers calloused, like mine.

"Aye, a nice want," she said thoughtfully. For a long moment we sat in silence, both of us thinking of what we might have had if our lives had gone differently. "Anne?"

"Mmm?"

"You shall make a good queen. A good wife for Bard. Give it time, you will see the same way that I do."

"I shan't make a good queen," I said simply. "But I will do my best, if that is my lot. Bard comes with a crown, and if I wish to be his wife…" I turned to her, moving so my knee was bent against the wall and I was facing her. "Then if I am to be a queen, we shall deal with this war together, you and I. I shall help you, as you shall help me."

I did not raise the end of my tone to make it a question, but a question it was nonetheless. There was nothing that would make me forget that I had been born in a house by the sea, and she had been born in a Kingdom that was now reclaimed.

"We will soldier on ourselves?" Dís said doubtfully, and the emotion that flickered in her eyes for a moment was enough to show me that the love of a mother is a blessing and a curse, for she would never rest until she knew her sons were safe.

"Aye, we will, in our own way," I said firmly. "You and I, together. We shall see off Bard and Bain, we shall see off Thorin and Fili and Kili, and we will welcome them home, Valar willing."

"Yes…" Her voice was small, but the thread of strength underneath it was that of the hardest steel.

"The Lioness of Erebor," I named her with a wink, both of our shoulders shaking with laughter.

"And the Pard of Dale," Dís shot back, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"A Pard? You would name me like Beruthiel?" I shook my head, then narrowed my eyes and hissed for good measure.

"Tell me another woman that has lasted in the histories," Dís countered. "Those cats did her well in the end, for she is remembered after all."

I stared at her blankly, then popped a nut into my mouth. "Very well, then," I acceded. "The Lioness of Erebor, and the Pard of Dale."

* * *

Fili and Sigrid's trothplighting was announced without delay at the midday meal. The room erupted immediately, and for one afternoon that stretched into the evening, we had our springtime triumph that I had wished for. All business was called off for the rest of the day, though that did not hold much impact; Bard did most of his work in the mornings, papers strewn out over tables in his study or the main hall, and he would often spend the afternoon out in the city itself. On the day of his eldest daughter's betrothal, the city came to us.

Barrels of ale and mead were rolled in – the mead sweet from honey, and the ale held some of my own spices that I had added the year before. The wine was sweet and heady, and it did not take long to work with the rest of the cooks to make up spice plates, with cool fresh drinks of rosewater syrup and water, or fresh lemons that we had brought from Dorwinion, topped with mint from the kitchen gardens. The company of Dwarves, along with the rest of their guards, stayed with us and lanterns were hung up in the warm spring air outside. We ate the evening meal on blankets in front of the hall, simple fare of fresh warm bread and salted fish, and I remember locking eyes with Dís and smiling, wordlessly confirming our pact to support each other.

Sigrid was beautiful. Had there ever been a betrothed wife so lovely as the eldest daughter of King Bard of Dale? Surely not, for her cheeks were flushed pink near constantly, and her smile was ready and wide. In peaceful times, her joy would have been a reason to celebrate before the hard work of the harvest was due to set in. Now, with the threat of war hanging over our heads, it seemed even more vital to be merry in the season where the calves were growing fat from their mother's milk, the wheat and barley growing taller and taller.

Thorin, of all people, provided Dale with another reason to celebrate. When the lanterns were our only source of light and the crowd was rowdy, the King under the Mountain approached us with a mischievous smile. Bard and I were sitting with Tilda and Bain, Birna flitting around somewhere close by, and Sigrid and Fili were dancing a springtime whirl. Dwalin was sitting silently beside Dís, but I fancied that perhaps he was not all too silent when I saw his lips moving in quiet whispers, Dís' cheeks heating in response.

In time, I would come to recognise such a smile as that worn by Thorin when he made his way over to us, his hair braided back completely. Fili and Kili would wear it, and Sigrid, too, would eventually take up the habit. But on the night of the betrothal, I was innocent of such things, and so when Thorin's booming voice called the attention of the crowd, I thought nothing of it, until he bid me to stand beside him, and called on the King of Dale to present his betrothed to the city. I was still reeling from speaking with Dís earlier, I had not had a chance to speak my mind to Bard, yet it was no hardship to curtsy to the roaring crowd and purse my lips with a mock frown to Thorin, who was wearing his usual self satisfied smirk as he placed my hand in Bard's, the way Iohan had done in Dorwinion. And it was no hardship at all to feel the lips of Bard as he placed a soft kiss on my brow, rather perhaps it was only natural to squeeze his hands and laugh like the maid in springtime that Dís had so light-heartedly accused me of being. It crossed my mind that some could have taken offence to the Dwarven King announcing our betrothal, yet it seemed that the union of Fili and Sigrid meant that there was not one naysayer in the crowd, and when I danced with Thorin much later in the evening (a very rare occurrence), my smile trembled on my lips as I thanked him shyly.

"Nonsense," Thorin dismissed my quiet words with a huff. "Had to be done. And there were no other Kings in attendance, unless my eyes have deceived me and the Elves have come after all."

"D'you truly think they won't?" I asked curiously when he led me over to a makeshift table for another glass of wine. Bard was watching us grimly from the other side of the circle of dancers, a tankard in his hand.

"Who knows, in the end?" Thorin replied, which was not an answer at all, but from his pensive expression he did not seem to really know what to say himself. "Evil is on all of our borders. Though I would not hold much hope, if I were you."

"If you were me?" I took a step closer to him. "Should I need to hope, then? Is this not something routine? Are they not the smaller force compared to ours?"

Thorin turned away from my urgent questions and exhaled. "All of our scouts have reported that they are the smaller force. But have you not seen how the clouds have darkened further to the East? Something guides them, for orcs cannot guide themselves. Forgive me," he said quickly when I set down the glass of wine, my hands shaking too much to continue to hold the delicate stem. "I should not speak of such things."

"Oh, you should, my lord," I said firmly. "It is not my place to ask you, but I should like to know if we… if we need to be prepared more than we are. No one has spoken, and we have been lulled into security. If you feel we should be more alert…"

"No, no," Thorin said gently. "You are right to celebrate, to welcome the springtime in such a way. It is the mutterings of an old and bitter dwarf that you are listening to, Mistress Anne. Do not pay any heed to me."

If my skin was not as tanned as it was, it would have been white as he began to walk away from me, then paused and put a hand on my arm to speak into my ear.

"You can tell an orc by the smell. It is sickly sweet, like the pomegranates you love, but picked too early."

He turned to leave again, though this time it was I that held onto his arm, my action forcing his eyebrows to rise and Bard to tense from where he had been watching us. "Why would I need to know such things?"

I kept my face very still, though it was almost as if Bard would have been able to hear my thudding heartbeat from across the room. Thorin examined my face, then patted my hand.

"You won't," he said shortly. "But there are things that a man will not say, that a dwarf will – we live longer, we see more…" Thorin shrugged. "Ah, but who am I to ruin such an evening? See, your face has already lost its colour."

"It has," Bard's voice rumbled from behind me, and I whipped around, surprised. He was staring at Thorin with a mixture of confusion and indignation on his face, but he soon shook his head and his eyes slid from the King of Erebor to me. At that, Thorin nodded to us and slipped away, returning to his sister's side to continue watching the happy couple.

Another woman might not have been so blunt; and perhaps I should not have been, but the moment Thorin was far enough away that he would not hear us, I swivelled around and faced Bard.

"Why?" I asked simply, twisting my hand into the soft linen folds of his tunic. He bent his head to study my movement, then looked at me again, a strange sense of relief in his eyes at the contact.

"Come," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, and took my hand to lead us around the festivities. Our going was slow, for we paused often to accept congratulations and by the time we had reached the garden at the back of the royal house, my hands were full of springtime flowers and Bard held two tankards of mead.

He bid me to sit beside him amidst the hyacinths, but I shook my head. "You didn't tell me."

Bard exhaled and took a long drink of the honeyed mead, then nodded. "I did not."

"How long were you planning to keep it up?" Finally, I sat down.

Bard snorted with wry laughter, and took another sip. "Only for this night. I can't very well hide an army from you, can I?"

"Well, no, but…"

"I was selfish," he said bluntly. "Though for Sigrid's sake, more than anything. Look at her, did she not deserve this?"

I stared at him over the rim of the tankard, my stomach swimming with the mead. "Aye, she did."

"And you, as well."

"Me?"

"You," he said with a small smile. "You were so happy in Dorwinion, with your family. And now look – the second day with me, and already you're as white as a sheet."

I shrugged off the comment on my colouring, and set the tankard aside. For a moment we watched each other warily, both of us understanding that we were on the edge of a precipice. The wariness was soon lost, for I leaned against his shoulder and curled an arm around his waist, smiling into his chest when he sighed and gathered me in.

"Are we going to war, then?"

"Bound to be," he replied shortly. "We can't avoid it. 'Tis a strange thing… going to war to make peace. But it will be finished, and finished quickly."

"Please Valar it will be finished…" I felt a shiver run through my body, seeing for a short moment Bain riding into battle, his black stallion charging, sword unsheathed.

"Bain will go?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And you?"

"I will."

Even though I knew that he would, he would lead the Men for Valar's sake, my mouth was still dry and my eyes itched. I rubbed at them with my sleeve and took another long drink.

"They come from the East? These orcs?"

"They do."

My heart seized in terror, and I curled my fingers around his arm. "My uncle… Alvar, Bard, what-"

"It's all right," he shushed me, hands over my hair and his mouth on my cheek. "It's all right. They won't come through Dorwinion, but Slecg has already gone to bid them to come here, to you."

I clutched at his tunic. "You are bringing them here? To us?"

"To you," he said firmly. "Slecg left this morning with a few men. They'll ride hard – your uncle and Alvar should be here in six days."

I sagged against him, a laugh of relief bubbling out of my chest. Could I have loved Bard more than I did in that moment?

"Slecg didn't have to…"

"He wanted to," Bard said with a shrug. "You're to be his queen, you know. I know you haven't thought much about it, but…"

I held a finger to his lips and smiled. "I have had help from some unexpected places." Bard looked at me quizzically, but I was strangely reticent to discuss my newest ally in Dís. "So I have thought about it… though I do not know the first thing about ruling, and honestly you could have chosen a better woman for such a task."

Bard blinked, disarmed at my plain speech, then chuckled under his breath and rubbed his forehead. "Ah… you rule your kitchen with an iron fist, betrothed wife. Your accounts are immaculate, your inventories are never wrong, nothing goes in or out of your cupboards without you knowing exactly where it has gone. You know everyone, everyone knows you. You already have one little kingdom, this will just be…"

"Monstrously and dauntingly larger?" I supplied, wondering what the people of Dale would think to see their king and future queen laughing like a pair of wicked shepherd lads in a barn.

"Aye, both of those things," Bard said finally between laughs and generous sips of mead. "But, there is something I should like to ask you now, Anne, now that you know everything."

"Whatever else is there to ask?" I went to take another drink, but found my tankard empty. That explained the heaviness to my hands, then, for they had stopped shaking.

"We will leave in a fortnight, once all of the men are mustered. And as soon as we leave the city, I want you to go to Erebor. Take Sigrid and Tilda, and go to the Mountain, let them shut the doors on you, and do not go out until I return for you all."

Dumbly, I sucked in a breath and shook my head. "If you say there is no threat, then I shall not flee. Either there is a threat, and we must go to Erebor, or there is no threat, and we stay in Dale. Which is it?"

Bard leaned forward and ran a hand over his mouth, staring out at the city that dropped down from this highest point on the hill. "I don't know," he confessed, the words dropping like stones. "But it would ease my mind to know that you were all safe. I do not want to ride into battle and be mad with worry at the same time. Can you understand such a thing?"

His tone was not unkind, but the bluntness of his words came from a man that had seen battle, and felt real fear for the lives of his children. And the woman beside him had never known such a thing.

"I cannot understand," I said simply, and let my hand rest on his shoulder. "But if you wish it, then I will see it done."

He caught my hand and pressed his thumb to my palm, the simple touch sending a bittersweet thrill through my body. I would worry for him, no doubt, and for sure I would barely sleep from now until the moment that all returned safe to us, yet as always his presence drew me to him, like a moth to a flame.

"Come here," he said gently as he stood, and I rose and went to his side to rest my head on his chest. Under the shelter of the night, I slid my arm around his waist and we stood for a long time, listening to the faint sounds of merriment and looking out on Dale, the city lit up amongst the blackness like lanterns on the water.

"I think there is one more thing that we should discuss," Bard said eventually, his tone mild and open. There was nothing in it; there was something in it.

"Oh?"

Bard shifted on his feet, his gaze resolutely fixed on the city below us. "I should like…" He looked down and up again. "I should like to come home to a wife."

.

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* * *

A/N

I was planning on writing a bit more, then thought – why not stop here? I'm cackling evilly, obviously. More to come soon. A lot of things going on in this chapter.

I have been wanting to write a Dís one-shot, but honestly, the rawness of her emotions after BOTFA (the canon ending) was a bit much. So, I've appeased myself by having her in this chapter. The line "birth the slaughtered" is actually from the Vikings show on television. Very poignant, and always makes me think of her.

Beruthiel – have a read of the canon story of Queen Beruthiel, 'tis quite interesting.

I also wanted to note that I know that there are some who wished for the story to remain T rated. I'm not going to spell out what occurs in the next chapter or two, but suffice it to say that in the next one or two chapters (I'm not finished, so not sure how long I'll be with everything) there will be a part that some may wish to skip.

Sofasoap – oh! Perfect! I hope you keep enjoying it.

ColorGuardian – the realisation is coming very, very soon ;-)

RedStalkingDeath – thank you! Not too much of the Bardlings this time, but next chapter there will be some.

Oatmeal – thank you very much! Another Aussie! Oi, oi, oi ;-)

Debatable-cerealkiller – you know what? I actually have _no _idea. I say "Sleg" in my mind, but the correct spelling is indeed Slecg. His name means hammer, if that gives you a good feel for his character.

Eryndil – Slecg the Impressively Foul Mouthed! I might borrow that – hilariously wonderful haha! The light bulb moment is coming in the next chapter; I'm quite excited for it myself.

Minna – another Aussie! I'm quite surprised; I didn't think that there was so many of us. That's 3 that I know so far. Mmm… can't resist a bit of danger, I'm afraid.

Kaia – I am the same – Anne seems to be the type to grudgingly accept when she has to be in the centre of things, if that's what it takes to get what she wants. If Bard was my prize, perhaps I'd be a bit more daring too ;-)


	28. Chapter 28

_Right off the bat, let's dedicate this chapter to XstaticBlueSoul who will hopefully have more time to prepare than Anne. ;-) Congratulations lovely, I hope the good luck continues to roll in!_

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* * *

"My grandmother always told me to lie back and think of Gondor."

"Have you even _been_ to Gondor?"

"Well no but that's the point now isn't it?"

I blinked and stared at the impassive face of Esme sitting opposite me, then cast a wary eye over at Dís, Hilda and Slecg's wife Dagny. Both the dwarrowdam and the women had their lips pressed firmly together and their shoulders were shaking until Dís howled with laughter and slapped her thigh, pausing between laughs to take a long drink of ale.

"Gondor!" Hilda exclaimed, and finally Esme let out a cackle of laughter, wiping the tears on her cheeks.

"Gods! The look on your face, Anne!" The fishwife shook her head.

I shivered and downed the rest of my wine. Gondor! "That's the last thing I'd want to think of," I said vehemently, giggling when Esme threw another piece of lace my way. "It's so _dull_!"

The four of us were sitting in the house of the Master of Laketown, cosseted within his private chambers. Percy was nowhere to be seen; it was a fair possibility that he had been drowned in the lake by now after Bard, Slecg, Percy and my uncle had steered the old barge far out into the mists over the Lake. I leaned back in the chair and accepted another glass of wine with a wink, giggling to myself over how we had found ourselves here to begin with.

* * *

The moment Bard had broached the wish that he wished to return from battle to a wife waiting for him, Hilda had magically appeared at my elbow; quite a feat for a short woman wearing an extravagant purple dress. Bard yelped and staggered back, his back hitting the stone wall of the house in surprise.

"Easy, easy," Hilda held her hands up with a sly smile. "I just happened to hear something so very interesting…"

Bard frowned and raised an eyebrow, years of history meaning he knew Hilda's smile very, very well. "And what did you hear, hm?"

"I heard…" Hilda clapped her hands and rubbed them together, "that there's going to be a _wedding!_"

I covered my eyes and shook my head, realisation of what Bard's words meant finally dawning on me. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no!"

"No?"

I moved my hands an inch to see Bard's crestfallen face, and groaned. "I haven't time to do everything! Not in a fortnight! The sweets, oh Gods, the sweets, Bard!" I clutched his arm, flying into a panic at the thought of having my own wedding without tables of sweetmeats and sugar bowls. I was a confectioner for Valar's sake!

My betrothed let out a bark of laughter and patted my shoulder. "And here I thought you didn't want to marry me!"

I paused from wringing my hands and scowled. "Of _course _I want to marry you, you dolt! I don't think I've wanted anything more in my life."

Bard shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, let's get it done then, shall we?"

Had more romantic words ever been spoken?

Hilda clapped again and I tried to resist pulling my hair out, then let out an undignified screech instead: "Now?!"

Bard opened his mouth to speak but Hilda clapped a hand over his lips. "Not now, not now," she said, speaking as if she was soothing a wild filly. Her tone worked its wonders, for my shoulders sagged and I leaned against the wall in relief, grabbing onto Bard's hand for support.

"When's your uncle coming, Anne?" she asked with dancing eyes. I turned to Bard and nudged his side.

"A week," he answered easily, shooting me a sideways grin.

"And when are you all riding out?"

"Two weeks."

I scuffed my boot on the stone path and held on tighter to his hand. "Are you sure this is the best time…?"

Hilda wagged a finger in my face and stomped her foot, looking so much like my mother that I tried to edge behind Bard's shoulder. "Now listen here you, you just listen to how merry all those people are behind us!" She paused and on cue we were silent, hearing the whoops of joy and squeals of young, dancing women. Hilda nodded to herself. "Would you forbid them another celebration? Don't you want them to have something to hang on to when they're fighting? Don't you think they'd happier to know that no matter what, there's a Queen in Dale who'll look after their women? Eh?"

Suitably chastened, I ducked my head to hide the red flush of embarrassment creeping over my cheeks and nodded. Unfazed by my selfishness, Hilda let out a decisive huff.

"Well, that's settled then!" she said and began to march away, and Bard and I stood in stupefied silence for a long moment until he shook his head and strode after Hilda, taking a light hold of her arm.

"What's settled?" he asked in confusion, looking back at me and then at Hilda again when I shrugged with my hands spread.

Hilda let out a little gurgle of laughter. "You're to be married, bargeman! In a week and a day."

She disappeared in a whirl of skirts and laughter, and Bard turned to face me, the hanging lanterns lighting up his slow, satisfied smile. He strolled towards me with his hands clasped behind his back, and instinctively I backed up against the wall, biting my lip as he placed his hands on either side of my head. My breath quickened when he bent his head to nuzzle my neck, one of his hands dropping to hold onto my waist.

"What do you think of this, then?" His voice was all silk, and a shiver ran through me.

"Of what?" I said provocatively, enjoying the kisses that were being peppered over the swell of my breasts. To know such bliss seemed almost immoral when I knew that Bard was due to ride off the very next morning to begin bringing the men and families in from the farmlands, mustering all that he could before returning to make more defensive plans, study more maps, discuss more tactics. But I could do naught to stop it – the thrill that budded in my belly at the idea of being his wife soon, so very soon, was too tantalizing to surrender. And for once I did not wish to change anything; despite what Dís had said to me earlier, I was determined to prove that a woman's work was the same, whether it was in a great hall or a kitchen. I could run both – I would run both, if he wished it.

He said nothing to rise to my challenge, choosing instead to capture my mouth in a kiss that left me breathless like a maid in the stable. I tipped my head back and imagined what it would be like to continue, not to break away, and to let him pull me by the hand into his chambers and bolt the door. Brazenly I ran my hands through his hair, losing myself in the smell of him and the warmth of his hands.

"For Valar's sake," he breathed when he tore himself away, "enough, enough."

"It's your fault," I accused him, the desire thudding almost painfully through my body. "I swear - it's your fault."

"I'm trying–" He broke off, silenced by my lips on his, a little groan pouring into my mouth along with his tongue. "I'm trying to do right by you," he managed eventually.

"Not by me," I returned cheerfully. "Did you know, betrothed husband, that an Eastern man and woman are bound from the moment of their betrothal?"

His answering laugh was hoarse. "I suppose there are lots of swollen stomachs on wedding days, then."

I let my hand trail down his chest. When had I become so bold? "A few."

He swore under his breath and backed away, hands held up. I grinned at the blatant, flirtatious smile on his face. "It's your own doing," I said with a giggle. "You won't find any objections from me."

There was nothing to do but laugh at Bard's exaggerated groan as he turned on his heel and strode down the garden path, back to the merriment.

"I shall remember your words!" he threw over his shoulder, the enticing threat making my toes curl in my boots.

* * *

The next week was one of the hardest of my life. Bard rode out every day, morning and afternoon, first to gather the men, then to gather the families, then to Erebor, Laketown and back. All three cities would ride together to cut off the head of the snake, so Bard said one night in my little kitchen. I thought that surely such an enemy would know their plans, but all Bard could do was shrug and say that he hoped for the best – that they had more men, more organised soldiers, than the numbers that the scouts had estimated. Soon enough I began to see that his words were true – the dwarves were massing within the Mountain, and even though they had not called on their kin in the Iron Hills to go to battle with them, they were a fearsome, unified force. I remembered hearing in alehouses in Gondor soon after the Battle of the Five Armies, that there was no army more formidable than an army of Dwarves; it seemed very true to me at that time. Sigrid and I made time one morning to walk over to Erebor and sit with Dís, who was making her presence known at one of the many training rings.

"Is it not unseemly?" Sigrid asked shyly, as yet another bare chest moved past us.

Dís shrugged and smiled at the young woman who was to become her son's wife. "Aye, in normal circumstances. But they need encouragement! Cheer for them, show them what they have waiting for them at home. A handsome Crown Prince, his beautiful betrothed wife, a strong King. Kin is everything to dwarves, we are fiercely protective of what we deem is ours. You are half ours now," she said with a sly smile and immediately we three rose to our feet to clap loudly when Fili threw his sword to the side and slammed his opponent onto the ground, the Crown Prince looking up with a grin in response. Dwalin followed next, sparring with Thorin; both dwarves fought fiercer than I had ever imagined possible, and more than once I found that Dís had grabbed onto my hand with an iron grip, until the two finally broke apart, the victor undiscernible.

But there was more to it than appearing in the training grounds. Birna, Tilda and I were busy from morning to night in the kitchen. I had half hoped that the time would ease the tensions between the young women, and it did work somewhat, but we soon found that we barely had enough time to sit down, let alone talk. Men poured into the city, from Laketown and the farmlands, and those who had the task of feeding them barely stopped working. In the mornings, I would walk out for an hour with Hilda or Sigrid, greeting the men or talking to their families, learning the names of the children clinging to their mother's skirts. But as soon as the hour was up, my apron was tied on again and I was back in the kitchens, making pot after pot of jams for the soldier's breakfasts, and using up almost all of our sugar to create tray upon tray of simple sweets to keep the families in the best of spirits that we could manage. Birna stayed by my side constantly, the girl becoming such a blessing that I swore to Bain one night that if he did not intend her for his wife in the years to come, then I would lock her up in the royal house myself so as to never lose her to another.

Bain was another way to raise the confidence of the fighting men – he was a vision in armour, his newly gained height complimented by the body of the man that he had blossomed into. He was ten and six, but he looked to me to be a man fully grown. There were only two men that weren't taller or stronger than him; Slecg and Bard himself. And when Bard could, he pushed Bain endlessly, and I knew that the moment Slecg returned, he too would take on the task just as severely. Dagny herself, Slecg's wife who I had met on the night of Sigrid's betrothal, came to drag me away just after dawn one day to stand on our toes at one of the windows in the corridor and watch Bard and another one of his guards go at each other again and again, the sound of their singing swords piercing the crisp morning air. Both men were without their usual tunics, and their hard chests shone with sweat. I left the window soon after, sidling away from Dagny's knowing grin.

In the evenings after the meals had been distributed and the dishes had been taken by the younger servants to be washed, we would all collapse either in the hall itself or the grass outside. Often Percy would play his lute and sing songs of love and land, until the men were rowdy enough to join in the merriment. The good spirits would send the wives home with smiles when they took their children to their beds, and I slept easier seeing Bard clap along and sometimes join his voice to the drinking songs.

Bard's confidence in me had been heart warming, though, I felt, undeserved. There were moments when I bid the girls to take a walk, and locked the kitchen door to sink to the floor and take deep breaths in, not knowing how else to take on all of the new responsibilities coming my way. It was one thing to cook for the men, and another thing entirely to present myself as a woman capable of marrying their leader; Dís had called me a Pard, a giant cat from the stories of old but surely she was more deserving of such a title than I. She was a seamless valley of inspiration for the dwarves, morphing from a demure, gentle woman to a battle hardened matriarch, depending on what sort of dwarf she was lending her strength to – surely there was no woman that could emulate her.

"I do not think so," Bard said softly one night, when I had stayed in my kitchen rather than the hall. "You're doing well. You are," he repeated firmly. "But you see now why it took me three years to take the crown, don't you?"

"Aye," I replied in a small voice that was muffled by his tunic. "I am sorry… you know I haven't… I don't know how to do any of this. They don't teach confectioners how to be women suitable for marrying Kings."

His answering laugh came easily and quietly, considering both of us were on the floor, Bard sitting cross legged and me positioned more comfortably on his lap.

"They don't teach Kingship to bargemen or bowmen either," he said pointedly. "It's a learned skill, and I still haven't got it right."

I leaned back to look him full in the face. "You have! Oh, you have – look at all that you have done! I don't believe that any other man could lead Dale how you have, not one."

Bard hummed, acknowledging my words, but saying nothing.

"Do you doubt yourself?" I asked softly, touching his cheek. "For you do not need to."

"No," he said slowly, "I do not doubt myself… and yet these are uncertain times."

At his words, I thought of other men who might puff out their chests and deny that they felt nothing but surety, their pride making them boastful, over confident. Bard was none of those things, having risen from ashes and guided the city from nothing to one to be proud of, to be admired.

I tapped my fingers on his knee, lost in my thoughts. Strangely it was my mother that came to me, and how she would divert the concerns of my younger self until I was calm enough to see what I hadn't.

"I shall be a good wife to you," I said suddenly, laughing at the perplexed smile on his face.

"Shall you?"

"Aye," I shrugged, nervous. "But… there are things that you should know, wifely things…"

"Wifely things?" Bard's smile was reaching his eyes now, and his eyebrows rose. "Tell me of these 'wifely things', then."

"Ah…" I buried my face in his neck, cheeks flushed. "I'm a terrible cook, a three trick pony really. Fish and chicken, smoked meat, all fine, but... One of my stews could have you abed for days."

Bard's accompanying laugh had me bouncing on his knees, and he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "You will be a Queen – you can learn easily enough. Although, sorry to say, five years ago I would have become a turncoat if my betrothed said she couldn't cook."

"Oh," I swatted his shoulder, then moved on with a wink. "I hate embroidery."

This time his laugh carried through the room, and I could not help but join in. "Can you sew at all?"

"I can," I said, affronted, and gestured to the shift that was poking out from the chest of my brown dress. "I made this."

Bard snorted and moved his vest aside, pointing at his undershirt. "I made this."

"Ohh," I said, automatically intrigued. "Did you? Really?"

"Most Laketown men can sew," he shot back, the pride evident in his voice.

I leaned in and traced the neat hem on his collar. "Well, it's good," I said grudgingly, slightly miffed that one of my only 'proper' womanly skills was not even required.

"I can make a good bath," I blurted out, then covered my mouth when his eyes widened. "Sorry."

"No, no," Bard wound an arm around me and brought his mouth to my ear. "I'd like to hear more."

"Well," I began, squirming at the tickling feeling of his breath on my skin, "it's all in the oils, you see, and-"

"Would you show me?"

I stared at him, then nodded slowly. "If you wish it."

"Hm," he said shortly. "Something to look forward to, then."

"A bath? You'd look forward to a bath?"

The look he gave me would have been enough to buckle the knees of any woman. "There's a lot of things one can do in a bath, you know, betrothed wife."

I thought for a moment, then took in his lazy smile and dark eyes. If a friend had confided such words in me, I might have whistled between my teeth. As it was, the words were meant for me.

"Oh," I managed, my voice sounding strangled. "Right. I know."

Bard laughed again at that, moving a section of my hair to kiss my cheek. "Shall I tell you of some husbandly things, then?"

"Husbandly things? Like bringing the game in for dinner?" I teased, the warmth of his hand around my waist comforting.

"Perhaps, in my old life," he mused thoughtfully, his words sparking an interest.

"In your old life?" I shifted on his lap until we were facing each other. "Tell me of your old life, when we would have been equals."

"We still are," he said pointedly but nodded with a laugh when I poked his chest. "Husbandly things in Laketown… fish for dinner near every night," he began with a wolfish grin and a scratch to his beard. "But for you I would've bought a chicken or two every week. Would you have plucked them, confectioner?"

I turned my head, arching my neck. "I would have been a true fishwife; scaling fish, making cheese, plucking chickens, smoking meat in the chimney."

"A very desirable fishwife, I should think," he said quietly, eyes roaming over my face. "And what of you as my queen? Will you still smoke the meat in the chimney?"

I closed my eyes and leaned into his chest, blissful. "I am scared, you know," I admitted, lulled into speaking my true thoughts. "I have lived so very differently these past years and I am scared now."

Bard was silent for a long moment, and I could feel his hand slowly moving over my hair, soothing. "I have been scared too, in my time," he said eventually. "But I do not think you are truly scared, not really."

"You do not think so?"

"No," he shook his head. "I think that you think you _should _be scared."

"Perhaps you are right… I don't know," I broke off and cupped his cheek with my hand instead. "And I am sorry, too."

"Why?" he asked and I smoothed a thumb over the crease that appeared between his eyebrows.

"For leaving. I should have written you a note, or just waited and gone with you… I thought Sigrid would tell you everything, explain it all… I'm sorry that you were worried, that you had to ride all of that way."

He hummed again. "I am glad that I went."

"Truly? You are glad?"

The glow of the candles in the room was just enough for me to see his easy smile, one side of his face almost golden from where the largest candle shone from a small table by the door. Unbidden, I thought that if we were lovers, then this would be my favourite time of day; then, nervously, it came to me that there were only a few days left of this, this blissful, tantalising state of not knowing what lay waiting for us behind the closed door of his chambers.

"I am glad," he said with a small smile. "I told you: I want to do things right by you. And it was good. It was very good. I am glad that I went."

I sighed and let him pull me into his arms again, until we knew that it was time enough to return and join the men again. "I do not deserve you. What was it that you said? Oh – you are far, far above my deserts."

"For once," he said between kisses, "stop that spinning mind of yours." And so I did.

* * *

The days passed so quickly in this pattern that the morning of my uncle's arrival happened before I even knew it.

I untied my apron and checked the bubbling pots again, then looked over Birna's shoulder as she spooned the sugar paste into the simple, floral moulds. A glance at Tilda had me nodding in silent approval at the way she was carefully placing candied nuts on a tray to dry and harden up, ready to be popped in the mouth and crunched between teeth. Later in the morning would see Birna working with the cooks in the main kitchen, kneading the bread and fetching the butter from the cellar, but for now she would do the work required for the sweetmeats.

I smoothed down the skirt of my red dress and made my way into the main hall of the royal house, stopping to return the greetings of the serving men and women I found on the way, and finally reaching Sigrid's position at the main doors that led outside. It was new to me, being greeted and watched by so many, but Dís had laughingly coached me on how to nod, smile and walk slow enough that it seemed that I had stopped for them, when really my feet were still moving and I was still on the way to wherever I was going. One night had seen the both of us collapsing with laughter in one of the corridors of Erebor, both clutching tankards of ale as we paraded past each other again, bobbing our knees and heads with smiles that grew more ridiculous with each turn. Dale was not quite as courtly as Erebor, for I could throw my arms around Torwald the head cook if I so wished and no one would bat an eyelid, but I was determined not to embarrass the city if I was going to represent it.

"Are you coming?" Sigrid tapped her foot impatiently, and I shook my head with a grin, hastening to her side to take her arm.

Together we walked through the doors, nodding in unison to the guards stationed at each side, and descended the steps to walk into the square in front of the house, bustling and teeming with soldiers. We were met with wide smiles and bows; none needed to bow to me at all as I was not yet married, but it seemed to amuse them to no end to bow to the woman who made their sweets, and so it was often that I found myself being hailed by this group or that so I could be presented with similar greetings.

We walked arm in arm through the crowd, intending to reach the fields before the city where the cavalry was training. Laketown's archers were famed and formidable, and their natural alliance with the city of Dale meant that the land between them had begun to be used to train up the archers on horseback. Privately, I thought that Bain's skills on Arsta should have had him leading the mounted soldiers, but it was dismissed instantly.

"He doesn't know a thing about actually _leading _yet," Sigrid said with a grin, "only how to be the best fighter. Look at him, would you?"

He was a sight for sore eyes, that much was true. He flew through the course that had been set up by Slecg before his departure, sword flying as he took off the 'heads' of enemies, Arsta moving with him as if they were not horse and rider, but one. It was moving to see such a bond between them; I knew that the horse would protect Bain to no end, and my surety of his safety grew. Bard went next, thundering along on his warhorse, and only paused when we heard a shout coming from around the side of the city gates.

Whether the soldiers were practicing, or truly perceived a threat, I do not and will never know, for the men have remained tight lipped about it to this day. Even Bard's face was serious as he led a group of mounted soldiers to form a line in front of Sigrid and I, and there was not even a gleam of amusement in his eyes to betray his intentions. I turned to Sigrid, confused, though she was as lost for words as I was.

Slecg rounded the corner first, Alvar in tow, waving at me madly. I peered around the guard of horses in front of us, making sure to stay well away from their powerful legs, and stuck my arm out to make myself seen, then lost a hold of myself and jumped up and down when my uncle appeared around the corner. As usual, he was tall and sitting straight in the saddle; a formidable sight. As one, the guards in front of us moved out of a line and into a rough semi-circle behind Sigrid and I. Bard dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting soldier, then went forward to greet his Captain and my family with his arm outstretched, ready to clasp their shoulders. I beamed at the smile on his face, and laughed when I saw my uncle's confusion at how Slecg made a low bow before returning Bard's warrior greeting. Alvar jumped from his horse and ran to me with a grin, slamming into my arms like a boy returning home, and soon enough both of us were laughing and holding onto each other.

My uncle, on the other hand, was watching the scene in front of him with a mouth that was slowly opening more and more. Bard reached up and shook his hand, as he had still not dismounted, and strode back to us to greet Alvar. As soon as his back was turned, the rest of the guards that had travelled with Slecg dismounted and made their way over to us. Each one presented an elaborate bow to Bard, clasped his arm, and then in turn bowed over my hand and lightly brushed their lips on my knuckles, as if I were their Queen already. There was nothing to stop them – they were determined, I could see it in the twitch of their mouths as they fought laughter, for they then backed away from us in unison and bellowed "Hail King Bard!"

And at that, my uncle fell off his horse.

* * *

"Oh, he did _not _fall off the horse!"

"He did!" Hilda said with a booming laugh. "Slid right off it, backside first onto the ground, poor man."

I waved a hand at the laughing women, pressing my lips together as I remembered the look on my uncle's face when he had hit the ground with a thud. Of course we had all hurried to his side, only making matters worse, and he was almost purple with rage. Iohan had jumped up and struck his rear, brushing off the grass, and nodded curtly to Bard, then switched into my native tongue and berated me for nigh on an hour for not telling him who Bard truly was.

"But you _did _tell him, didn't you?" Dís cut in, her face half covered by a tankard.

"Aye, aye," I grinned wickedly. "I swear that I did – by my troth, I did!"

"Men," Hilda exclaimed, her dark hair loose and swinging as she shook her head. "Can't tell 'em nothing. They never believe anything, they don't."

"But, wait-" Dís raised her voice to be heard over the gaggle of resulting laughter. "Didn't Bard go to your home? Didn't your uncle see his men?"

I shrugged helplessly, glad when Esme opened her mouth. "Men don't see something if they don't want t' see it!" she said decidedly, and after a moment's thought every woman in the room was nodding and murmuring about the truth of her words.

I had been dragged down to Laketown as soon as the serving of the evening meal had finished, Bard, Slecg, Dís (by my request, considering no one in their right mind would have brought my dearest friend Sigrid with such matters on the table that we were obviously going to discuss), and my uncle along with me. As soon as we had crossed the long bridge into the town, Slecg had strung one arm around Bard's shoulders and the other around my uncle's.

"Right, then, fine ladies!" his loud voice boomed in the night air. "I'm afraid there would be naught more delightful than partaking in your _activities," _the insinuation accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows, "but we men have places to be on this fine night!"

"And just where do you think you're going?" Hilda said sternly, hands on her hips. "If you lot come back with your arses on backwards, I'm not helping you off that barge!"

My uncle was immediately won over by the plain speaking wife of the Master of Laketown, and made a half-hearted attempt to appease her. "No, no, mistress Hilda, only slightly altogetherly, nothing untoward," he said politely, and Hilda snorted, turning to me.

"Did you teach him that? Altogetherly?"

"Err…" I scuffed my boot. "Possibly."

"Oh, Gods," Dagny moaned, mortified at my use of Gondorian courtly terms. "We've work to do, it seems. Go on. Get you gone, the lot of you!"

Bard shot me a quick apologetic glance, but it was not enough; soon he was being herded like a lamb along the wooden planks, until the four men disappeared into the mist. And that was how I found myself in the chambers of the Master with Dís, Dagny, Esme and Hilda, nervously awaiting the wisdom that would no doubt be dished out in spades.

"Now," Esme said with a nod after we had gone through the first bottle of Lord's table Dorwinion wine, "I'll tell you one thing. You're a lucky woman, you are."

"Why?" I leaned forward, curious at the sly looks exchanged by everyone in the room except me.

"Well," Dís said slowly, "there is something to be said for the difference between a colt and a stallion."

"Between a what and a what?"

"Between a fry and a fish," said Dagny.

"A cub and a bear?" Hilda tried.

"A man and a lad!" Esme said eventually, collapsing into laughter, her eyes watering. "A man and a lad, Anne. There's a difference between a man and a lad."

"Aye," Hilda said firmly, ignoring my flushed cheeks. "There is. A lad'll dip his wick and be done with it, and a man-"

I was tempted to cover my ears at the crude image, then took a deep breath instead and thought of Gondor.

"-a man is at home with a woman. He has the advantage of his years, Anne, he knows what to do."

"Aye, you certainly could do worse," Dagny said with a grimace. "Some men, I tell you. The tales some of the other women tell…"

"Mahal's beard, don't tell her anything of the sort!" Dís commanded. "Besides, she's nigh on one and thirty. She doesn't have her head in the clouds."

"Thank you," I muttered, burying my face in my hands. "I wasn't nervous before, you know."

"Ohhh, no," Hilda said kindly. "Nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Don't think about it, then."

"Easy for you to say!" Dís shot back. "She'll be dreaming of fishes and bears and candle wicks!"

This time is was not difficult to throw my head back with the rest of the women and laugh until tears were flowing down my cheeks.

"Enough!" I pleaded between sips of wine. "Really, I cannot… I am not afraid!" I burst out suddenly, emboldened by the sweet liquid. "I am not!"

"'Course you're not!" Hilda said proudly and reached over to pat my arm. We were all seated around the fire, and I stared into it for a moment, glad for the company of women.

"Really, I am not afraid," I said into the air, and knew at once that it was true.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

'Altogetherly' is a very polite term for drunk.

'Lie back and think of Gondor' – we all know that, yeah? 'Lie back and think of England'? ;-)

Esme is a fishwife in Laketown, Anne met her just before she went to Dorwinion in chapterrrrr… 21!

I realised that I had Bain at fourteen years old in Anne's first year in Dale, and I've written him as being sixteen now, the following year. So let's just say he was right at the end of his fourteenth year when his age was mentioned last.

Re the dwarves – there is actually something said in canon somewhere (vague much) that an army of dwarves is superior to any other army, including Elves. I shall try to find it if needed but it is there… somewhere.

This the last 'whirlwind' chapter, though by no means are we at the end.

Lystan – all of my love to you!

Violet – done!

Debatable-cerealkiller – I'm so glad that you liked this take on her. She's a bit happier in this chapter.

Jepenner – You're definitely right, they're foul things. He wanted it to be understandable for her, something that she'd be able to pick out. But I shall say no more ;-)

XstaticBlueSoul – I am so beyond happy for you!

RedStalkingDeath – hah! Next chapter coming up.

MoxyMuse – thank you very, very much. What a wonderful thing to read. You have got Anne down to a T, sheltered, fairly simple minded, as one would be when working in service, even if it's a trade. She would have been agreeable to marriage, even expected it as the path her life would have taken, but certainly not with Bard of all people, which is why I think she takes a while to get her head around it all. You see her exactly how I want you to, which is great for me to know. I slotted in a stack of Hilda and as much Dís as I could for you as a thank you!


	29. Chapter 29

I took one last long look at my mother's red silken dress. It was the same dress I had chosen to wear during the great feast almost one year ago, for we had not had the time to sew a new one. And yet, it felt fitting to look at myself in front of Sigrid's long mirror that was backed with silver, a betrothal gift from Fili, for in a way it meant that my mother was with me, holding my arm and guiding me towards the door. Every waking hour since our decision to marry so soon had brought with it nerves and excitement, intertwined so closely that there was no telling what it was that my heart was thudding in response to. Slowly, for I would never have this moment again, I stared at the braids in my hair, woven with fresh spring flowers. A thin circlet of silver rested on my head, shining in the candlelight. I was trying not to look at it, but it stood out like silver amongst gold. I wore no other adornment, save the comb of pomegranate flowers that sat at the nape of my neck, gathering the woven strands of hair.

Again there was a round of cheering from the hall where the men and women of Dale were already gathered, Bard among them. He would be standing on the raised stone platform at the top of the hall, Percy the Master of Laketown beside him. He would be wearing a deep blue velvet tunic, and his eyes would be scanning the crowd, his lips curved into my favourite smile. He was waiting for me. At the thought, my hands shook and my heart raced and I knew at once that it was not from nerves, it was excitement. It was unbearable, unrelenting excitement.

My uncle Iohan stood at the door, one polished boot tapping on the floor. Wordlessly, he held an arm out to me, his black eyes shining with silent amusement.

"You are beautiful," he whispered into my ear when he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. "Your mother would think you so very beautiful."

"If I am beautiful, then you are handsome," I replied, taking in his rich dark brown tunic and freshly combed and braided hair. "A true Dorwinion Prince."

"For my Dorwinion Queen," he said, touching the circlet.

"Dale," Hilda said proudly from the other side of the door, where she stood waiting. "Your Queen of Dale."

My cheeks flushed pink at her correction but my uncle's answering laugh pushed my own nervous chuckle from my mouth.

"Aye," Iohan said gently as we walked down the corridor and paused in front of the carved wooden doors, in time to hear a hush fall over the crowd. "My Queen of Dale."

And then the doors were opened.

* * *

The Master of Laketown married King Bard of Dale to his Queen as the sun was setting and the spring flowers cast their heady scent to the air. The hall was quiet as he tied the ribbon of silk around our clasped hands, but when Bard recited the age old vows in a clear, triumphant voice, and my own voice rang out in assent to him, I could not even hear his whispered words of love from the deafening roar. The hall was full of fishwives and market traders, men and women of the court, village girls and stable boys. The two men that made up my family cheered the loudest, though Bain's bellowed "Hurrah, hurrah, to the King and Queen of Dale!" eclipsed them all.

There was naught to do but smile shyly, and turn to the crowd to perform a curtsy as Bard bowed low to the people who called him their liege. This wedding, so easy and simple, had put me beside him and so when they cheered for us it was no longer difficult to walk beside my new husband to the long table where we would sit to preside over our wedding feast. I could barely tear my eyes from his for joy, and even when we walked around the table to stand behind it, raised on the dais for the first time, there was nothing that stopped me from darting forward to kiss his lips, near bursting with happiness when he wound his arms around me and kissed me again to more shouts of pleasure from the crowd.

"My wife," he said lowly, pulling out my chair. I sat, beaming up at him, thrilling to the word. When Bard sat down beside me, the crowd sat too, and soon we were free to share our disbelieving laughs as conversation flowed around us.

"Husband," I said slowly, testing my tongue on the word. "Husband."

"Queen Anne," he said with a smirk and a tip of his glass of spiced wine towards me. "Queen Anne of Dale, my very own wife."

"King Bard," I shot back, grinning widely and full to bursting with joy, "King Bard of Dale, my very own husband."

We ate in silence together, not that it was of our own making. Bard's children sat beside him and nothing halted the joyful words that spilled from Tilda's mouth – neither of us had the heart to stop her, and so Bard indulged her and listened to her commentary on our vows with a smile. My uncle and Alvar occupied the two seats next to me, and I was more than content to listen to their stories of all that had happened in the village since we had left. We had only a week between our departures, but already there was news of engagements and children being born. We dined on roasted meat and game, and freshly baked bread with rich, creamy butter. Soups were passed along our table and when the sweetmeats were presented I had to look away with shining eyes from the beautiful squares of conserve that I knew Birna had made that very morning. I raised my glass to her, sitting shyly to the side of the hall, such a mirror of myself a year ago that my throat was suddenly all too thick.

The dwarves of Erebor had come to celebrate with us and King Thorin sat beside my cousin, with Fili, Kili and Dis taking up the rest of the seats. If there was anything at all that marked the change in my status, it was the King Under the Mountain bowing low over my hand, brushing a kiss over my knuckles as he turned my hand over and placed a jewel into my palm that shone almost as much as the amusement in his eyes. There had been no time for any proper notifications to be sent to the Elves, but an ambassador from Dorwinion was sitting proudly at a table close to the dais, and more than once I blushed to hear him speaking to his companions of how a daughter of the vineyards had risen to be a beautiful Queen.

"You will need to get used to it," Kili said with a smirk as he whirled me around the hall not long after the dancing had begun. Bard and I had danced together during the first set to a lively reel from Laketown and the heat of his hand on my back was all too promising; both of us regretted the moment when he had to pass my hand from his to another's.

"It is no hardship," I said smilingly, laughing when he missed yet another step.

"Nay, 'tis no hardship at all," Fili pronounced when he came to claim my hand next. "I shall tell the rest of Erebor that Queenship suits you as well as the diamonds that shine in your hair."

"You have a mouth for flattery," I said dryly, "for there are no diamonds in my hair!"

We parted and circled Sigrid and Kili, until we drew together again. Not for the first time I thought that there was no better person for Sigrid, as his eyes so often moved to where my younger friend was dancing. "I know diamonds when I see them," Fili said with a smug smile. "Tell me, Queen Anne, is there another explanation for how the centres of the flowers shine so?"

I gasped and missed the next step, then giggled like a child when he simply hardened his hold on my waist and rose me up to place me where I should have been. "You lie!"

"By the beards of my fathers," Fili said, eyes twinkling. "I do not lie."

I touched a hand to the comb of pomegranate flowers, then, unable to resist, tipped my head back and laughed. And when Bard came to take my hand I greeted him with another kiss, whispering that it was in thanks for the jewels in my hair. He beamed, and swung me around until we were breathless.

The dancing lasted long into the night, and often it would be Percy on his lute that would play the opening notes of tunes that hailed from Laketown or from the original town of Dale so many years before. They were fast and merry, with lutes accompanied by beating drums, fiddles and the clapping of hands as the sweet wine and honeyed mead encouraged the crowd to sing the words boisterously. The dwarves, not to be outdone, bellowed out one of their own songs in Khuzdul, an honour that would not be seen again for never would a dwarf sing songs in his own language in front of those outside of his race. Dwalin himself sang the loudest, and whether it was the wine in her belly or the love in her heart, I will never know, but Dis let him lead her into the next dance with a smile that would have lit the silver lanterns on the walls.

Young women danced to village tunes, their hair loose and wreaths of flowers on their heads. Their mothers and I stood to the side and clapped along with the tune, and it was with near constant laughter that I accepted a hand to drag me into the circle, to link my arms with Sigrid and Tilda and let them guide me until I too was dizzy as my feet jumped, crossed and leapt. We turned and twirled, and in the end not one woman was dancing with ordered steps. I had not known such joy as I did when my hands were clasped around those of the young women that could now be called half mine, at least in my heart, and there was no holding our gasping laughter as we spun around and around.

I was glad when a break was called, though there was no hope in having the chance to slip outside with my husband as we would have done had we been the farmer and his wife. Instead we sat together, his arm around my shoulders and my back leaning into his chest, listening to the men sing drinking songs of Laketown. Bard, so usually silent and soft spoken, was not the only one who raised his voice to join in, sharing a smirk with me as Percy strummed along and Slecg jumped on a table with his arms spread wide and feet dancing along the wooden surface:

_When there's food on the table_

_And ale on the shelf_

_And good loving strong_

_And good loving long_

_She don't ever need nobody else!_

The singing and clapping grew louder with the next verse and soon not one man of Laketown nor Dale was seated, including the handsome King of Dale, so modestly standing with his arms around Percy's shoulders as they bellowed out the words. More than once he would grab one of his daughters and swing them around with such delight that I could barely keep my eyes away from his, full of smiles of disbelief that this man was now joined with me.

_And if you play around a little_

_Just make her realise_

_You were just testing her mettle_

_And that's all a different kettle_

_She's the sweetest fish you ever fried!_

The talented trio of Bard, Slecg and Percy, now all standing on the table, swept their arms out and bowed in unison.

"What have I got myself into?" Snorting with laughter, I turned to Hilda who was eyeing the three with a screwed up mouth. Percy took one look at his wife and his face paled, and quickly the trio were off the table and perched on the bench in front of it, the picture of innocence.

Bard himself joined Percy during the next song, though instead of singing he sat with a drum over his knees as he beat out a rhythm to accompany the lute. It was a different, faster tune, so like the dances of my village that I was not surprised when my uncle stood up. Iohan appeared at my side with a grin and held out a hand.

"But no one is dancing!"

"Would you deprive me of a chance to dance with my daughter, _azizam_? No?"

"No," I beamed and let him lead me to the centre of the hall, summoning my courage to stand opposite him and curtsy as he bowed, and out of the corner of my eye I laughed to see the Dorwinion ambassador grabbing a drum and sitting down beside Bard, who was watching us with one eyebrow cocked. With the ambassador came his companions, borrowing lutes and fiddles to play for us.

As with all of our dances in Dorwinion, if one knew what to look for, there was no mistaking the Eastern influences. Perhaps it was an exotic, foreign thing to Dale, for no sooner had we circled each other once then the hall was full again. For a song, I was a child again as I danced and turned and ducked under my uncle's careful hand, and stood to the side and clapped once, then held my arms up and clicked my fingers, rolling my shoulders while he spread his arms and beckoned me forward again. We danced around each other, separately at first, and then with our arms linked as the ambassador increased the speed, until Alvar joined us and we three jumped and kicked out our feet in unison, laughing all the while as we took our little line of three around the hall.

I almost did not want it to end, but when I turned and saw Bard's eyes on me I was impatient all over again and as soon as the music finished, we performed our bows to the cheering crowd and I hastened to his side. Sharing my thoughts, he wound an arm around my waist and stood, studiously ignoring Sigrid's sly look, though Hilda appeared in front of us with hands on her hips as soon as we took our first steps towards the doors to the royal chambers.

"Oh, no you don't!" she cried and grabbed my hand. "You are forgetting something."

With the groan of the long suffering man through the ages, Bard released my hand and bent his head to whisper in my ear.

"Run quickly," he breathed, sending a shiver down my spine. With a dry mouth I nodded and backed away from him slowly to let the women of Dale and Laketown encircle me until there was a wall of bodies between us. And then I ran.

* * *

Long ago in Dale, so the tale goes, a bride was captured on her wedding day, retrieved by her family who did not wish to let her go. But the husband to be presented himself to the family who had barred their door against him, and long speeches were given in honour of the woman's beauty, her sweetness, her kindness. Still the family would not admit him, until a physical challenge was made. A spokesman stepped in to bring peace between them, and if the man was able to find his woman, then the marriage would be allowed to take place. Such a tradition was not practiced often in Laketown, but in restored Dale it was not rare at all to see a bride galloping away on a horse, followed by men of the groom's party, trying to catch her for the luck it would bring them in their own suits. We did not have the time to organise the horses, nor did I have a door to bar – it would be a fallacy anyway, for there was not one woman in the world who would have barred the door to the King of Dale. But I had my feet.

I would let him find me.

My slippers pounded on the wooden floor, slipping and sliding as I tore through the backs of the house, heart thudding and delighted laughter escaping my mouth. All the while I heard the footsteps following me becoming ever louder, until at one turn there was a glimpse of the pursuers. Still I did not stop; dodging tables and bookcases, I ran back into the hall and threw myself into the circle of women again, turning with a heaving chest to see Bard standing serenely against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. _How had he known that I would return?_ Anticipation built, my breath sped; his eyes did not leave mine as he began to slowly walk towards me, threading his way through the crowd before he stopped a few feet away. I feinted to one side, giggling as his arm reached out to grab me, throwing him a coquettish glance when I turned and slipped between the women again, too far for his touch to find me.

Soon enough the crowd was dancing, whirling around in village reels accompanied by none too innocent bawdy jests and bellows of laughter, and again I was herded towards the doors to the side of the house that housed the royal chambers, Hilda, Esme and Dagny forming a row in front of me. The minute that Bard turned his head, distracted by Dis appearing at his elbow, they pushed me through the doors with shouts of encouragement and joy and my feet propelled me down the corridor, flying with me as I wrenched open the doors to every room I passed, giggling all the way as I heard the great doors open and close as soon as I turned the rosewood handle and slipped into Bard's chamber; this time, I wanted to be caught.

* * *

The footsteps came closer still, the wood underneath his boots creaking with each step he made. I backed further into his chamber, and in the time that I had I looked around at the room that would house and sleep me for the rest of my days. I had been here once before, when the black night had cast its shadows over the room and there was nothing to see. Now, there was light; candles had been lit, and one lantern hung from the wall beside the door, wrought in silver. From Erebor, no doubt. This was a King's chamber, fit only for a Queen to share. I shivered at the thought, wrapping my arms around my middle. Would a woman so used to service grow to command?

My eyes first took in the fireplace to the far right of the room, then the tapestries on the walls. They were not battle scenes like another king would hang to look at upon waking; these were scenes of fields and lakes and sprawling golden buildings: scenes of triumph and of life. Hilda had whispered to me that I may change anything, and yet there was nothing to change; it was as I would want because it was his. The wooden furniture was simple: a desk and chair in one corner, two tall chests along the wall and small tables on either side of the bed. A small door led to a washroom, a privilege on its own for a woman like myself, and there was a privacy screen in one of the corners. My own chest of cedar wood stood at the foot of the bed, containing my meagre belongings that had been sent earlier from my room and small little house down the hill. To see it in such a place, the heart of the room, made my hands shake all over again. There was no going back, though I did not wish to.

The bed… I swallowed, pushing past my nerves, and walked closer to the frame of slow grown oak, looking up to take in the cream coloured hangings, so thin that my eyes could easily see through the screens to the white linen sheets. I raised a slow, hesitant hand and pushed back the hangings.

"Is it… is it to your liking?"

I whipped around at the sound of Bard's voice, my breath catching at the sight of him standing in the open doorway, watching me.

"You caught me easily," I admitted quietly, taking a step towards him, biting my lip when he closed the door.

"I knew where to look."

As I walked, his eyes moved over my dress, following the silver patterns embroidered onto the red silk. I stopped halfway across the room, my feet flat on the cool wood. There was nothing to do but to look at him, take him in, from his black hair to his vest and tunic, his hands that were moving unseeingly behind his back as he slid the bolt across the door. His skin was flushed from the dancing and chasing, and he shrugged off his vest, now standing only in his blue velvet tunic. Bard folded the vest carefully and placed it on top of one of the wooden chests.

Blood was pounding in my ears, like the sea during a storm, and I swallowed again. His desire was all around me and still I was unsure how to receive it, how to encourage it. I took another step, lacing my fingers together.

It was almost like the delicate time between sleep and waking, for the noise in the hall still reached our ears, but there was a quiet certainty in his presence - a confidence, even. Bard closed the distance between us, though not once did he raise a hand to touch me until he took a gentle hold of my wrist and smoothed a thumb over the silver buttons. An old, familiar craving seemed to swell between us and in my stomach as his practiced fingers worked on the buttons, his black hair bent over my hand as each tiny button that was released bared a new inch of my skin to his eyes.

When the sleeves were undone at both hands, he pressed his thumbs into my palms. Where had his shyness gone? His reticence? Where had _mine _gone? Still he was not touching me in any place but my hands, but it did not seem near enough; this did not seem to be the slow, coaxing love that I had been told of last night, the loving of a woman for the first time, for the air in the room felt almost stifling, too heated for slowness, too heavy for gentle guidance. I leant closer, and touched my forehead to his chest, taking the time to memorise the feel of the whole of his body against my own. For a long while we did not speak and the only movement I knew was the pounding of his chest over his frantic heart; the closeness of him did not make me shake like a leaf. Instead it made me bold.

I, who had been sure of my innocence and sure of his knowledge, ran a finger over his mouth, marvelling at the soft lips beneath that I had kissed and yet not kissed – never in the way that a wife must kiss her husband; brazenly, without fear. And I was not afraid.

Bard dropped his head and kissed my shoulder of red silk, my collarbones, my neck, and I buried my face in his hair, the crook of his neck, revelling in the low groan that ghosted over the newly revealed skin as his arms came around me and tugged at the laces at my back, pulling and pushing his fingers through them until the gown fell open at the back, held up only by my shoulders. After the gown came the braids in my hair, painstakingly woven with flowers that fell to the floor without a sound as he thrust his hands into the braids, spreading the river of black over my shoulders. Then, and only then, did I take a small step back and dare him to look at me, his wife, so close to bare in front of him. And I took my time in turn, studying how his eyes darkened in the glow of the candles, wondering at the sheer _luck _that had such a man standing before me, broad shouldered, black haired and handsome, for me and me alone.

"Impossible," I breathed and shook my head, speaking my thoughts aloud.

"This?" he asked, drawing me to him, studying my face.

"All of this."

Bard shook his head. He looked as if he might say something, soothing words or sweet nothings. But his mouth grew closer to mine and I knew without prompting that there was no need for such things, for we had been waiting for far, far too long.

His lips met mine suddenly, crushingly, and their softness made me turn over inside. And when his mouth paused and his hands began to push the dress down over my shoulders, it was as if my life was in the breaths I was taking; what would I do with the breaths? It seemed too easy, too natural – I had thought to need instruction but any decisions I may have had to take were made for me. Now _he _moved, turning to pull my hand and we fell to the bed, his mouth on mine, tongue tracing my lower lip, calling me out to play. Soon we were rolling and fumbling breathlessly while more buttons were undone and clothes removed until we were bare to each other and what followed was all so quick but I could not bring myself to stop it, secure in my knowledge that he was my husband now and I would soon have the luxury to stop and do more than just clutch his shoulders and feel the hardness of his back and chest, the liquid smooth thighs covering my own.

He said my name over and over, until he was silenced by my giddy laughter, and again Bard kissed me, his grip on my waist like iron and his mouth swallowed the gasp of surprise that left me at the feeling of his hand reaching for me, coaxing and guiding, until at last there was nothing between us but joining. There was a searing pain, but it twisted over and over in my belly until it was heat instead of ice, and so I did not care about the pain. And it was over almost as soon as it began; one moment I opened my eyes to see the cedar beams above our heads, then down to his brown gaze that was locked onto mine, so raw and honest as if he too understood that with this came a second chance at life. The next, a strange budding in the place where we were joined that had my head tipping back with the rapture of it, lost in the sense of his mouth descending and marking the skin offered to him until his breathing stilled and his body clenched and I was warm, for the first time in my life.

* * *

I began to understand how such things could work, how I might lose myself in his bed and never wish to leave it, forgoing all else in favour for damp sheets and heavy limbs strewn across my body. There was nothing like I had heard - some women said it was like the top string on a lute, or the first suck of an overripe melon, a sweet, sour rise. Nothing like that; something like that. A taste, a promise, an open invitation. But who could I ask? How could I know? I was sure that I did not know the top string on a lute - was it that same feeling that Bard had felt when his breath hitched and I was suddenly full? How would I come to know such things?

I turned on my side to face my sleeping husband. Bard was as he was that night in Dorwinion; on his back, one arm cradling his head, the other snug around my body, holding me against him. Sleep had claimed us quickly after he had lost himself in me; I cannot even think of how we came to be peacefully lying together after the hurried fumbling and rolling of only hours before, but somehow we had arranged ourselves into a calm and sleepy tableau. The husband and wife, sated.

I had awoken to the faint drumming sound of spring rain and though it was the middle of the night, there was no wish to return to sleep. I stretched, barely restraining a satisfied catlike hiss then sucked in a breath when warm fingers danced over my ribs.

"Wife," Bard said simply, his voice making my body tingle.

"Husband."

"How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" _How did I feel? _Stretched, warm, safe, languid, satisfied…

"I feel… full."

"Come here, then," his low voice said into my ear, even though I was already almost in his arms anyway, only half an inch between our skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, already feeling a budding desire in my belly and opened them to see his gaze mirroring the lazy lust that must have shone in mine.

"Will my wife forgive her husband?" he whispered, just above the sound of the rain, and trailing a lone finger along the side of my body.

"And what is my husband's transgression? What is this wickedness," I teased, "that he must beg for forgiveness on the bridal night?"

Bard did not answer, choosing instead to flip my body over, ignoring my laughing protests that were shut off immediately as his hands began to explore the markings on my back.

"Tell me what they mean."

Humming, I reached behind me and let my hand run over the marks that formed a line between my hip bones. "Birth," I whispered, voice breaking when his hand joined mine and the duckdown bed dipped as he bent to kiss each single diamond carving.

"And these?"

With some difficulty, I took his hand to trace the two separate lines that branched above the lowest. They reached my shoulder blades. "Womanhood."

His mouth followed my hand. "And what is missing?"

"Marriage," I said quietly. "And motherhood."

I did not turn my head to see what he reached for, content to rest with my head on my folded arms, though I tensed when I heard his hands moving in a bowl of water on the bedside table.

"And where do you paint for marriage? Here?" He traced a cool, wet line down the middle of my back, a vast difference to the heat that stuck to my body. Summer was approaching, and even with the windows open to catch the breeze that came with the rain, the air inside our chambers was sultry and hot.

"No," I said slowly, boldly turning over to face him.

He smirked, and dipped his fingers into the water again, painting down across my breasts. "Here?"

His hand moved lower. "Here?"

"No!" My belly shook with quiet laughter, but I let his hand rest where it had reached, renouncing modesty and already faint with desire. "We are not so wild."

"If you knew how many times I have imagined this moment…" Bard shook his head, splaying his fingers on my stomach.

"And I, too," I confessed. "Many times."

"Ah, but you have imagined it with innocence, surely."

I looked up at him. "With no innocence at all!"

"None? None at all?"

"None," I confirmed with a little gurgle of laughter. "Even when you kissed me for the first time I was hoping beyond hope that you would just do away with propriety, throw it out the window and have me in front of the fire."

At my brazen words he snorted with laughter and bent to rest his head on my shoulder. "If you had told me that then, then I would have."

"No!"

"Aye, I would have," he said firmly, rising on his elbows to meet my gaze. "I have wanted you for myself since I saw you one day in the orchard in the middle of summer."

"What?" I asked, slightly flustered. "The orchard?"

He gave me the most delightful sideways gleam. "Aye, in the orchard. Dirt up to your elbows, hair sticking to your face. Planting a cutting of a pomegranate tree."

"Aha!" I tapped his shoulder. "You must be wrong. We plant them in spring." Secretly, I was wishing that he wasn't – at that moment, there was nothing more pleasing than the idea that Bard may have known me long before our meeting in my little kitchen so many moons ago.

"Spring, then," he said easily, unperturbed. "The end, 'twas far too hot for the middle."

I sat up, not bothering to drag the covers with me. "Did we speak?"

At once he was behind me, his arms around my stomach, and a chuckle on his breath. It was effortless to arch into the curve of his chest, as if the tide of the seas I was born on carried me to him always. "We did. You told me off. Said I could pitch in or pitch out."

"I did not!" Mortified, I cast my mind back to the year before, trying to remember. There was no doubt that it was me in the orchard, given that half of the city turned out to plant in the spring time, but surely he was mistaken? "I do not remember a thing."

"My back was to the sun," he said, clearly satisfied that he had fooled me so easily. "You could not have known that it was me."

"Then my husband is a cunning man! What a grand scheme you wove, making me think I was the chaser and you were being chased!"

He had the good sense to look deliciously shamefaced, like a scolded boy.

"And to think," I mused, "all this time I could have declined your advances instead of seeking them out, if you had such grand designs all along. I could have played the virtuous maiden for far longer than I did." Though even as I said the words I tipped my head back to rest against his chest, content.

"I had no grand designs – only this." Bard pushed my hair aside to place a kiss to my shoulder.

"Truly," I said honestly, our voices soft and low, accompanying the rain. "This must be a dream."

His rough and calloused hand disappeared from where it had been resting on my stomach, moving again to trace the lines on my back. "Not a dream."

Oh, but surely it was… surely I would wake from this to an empty bed, skin shining with sweat from imagining everything that had passed between us…

"Tell me then, wife," he challenged me, gently pinching my waist as if to wake me. "Have you had the best night of your life? Or have you not?"

I twisted my neck to look at his face, pondering the question. Truly my life had been, up until this moment, comfortable and even pleasurable at times. I had been born to a beautiful, loving woman, and was undeniably blessed to have a father when I really had no father at all. At thirty summers, I had been desired and loved by a King, and accepted by his children. But this night - was it the best?

"I have," I said, conceding him everything. "And what of you? Has this been one of the best of yours?" For there was no other way to ask such a question of a father, who had held his newborn children in his arms and who had loved before, though it no longer bothered me.

"Yes," he said simply. "One of the best. One of the very best."

A single finger under my chin pushed my face up to see his darkened eyes. He was stunningly handsome; my stomach turned over again. When he opened his mouth to speak, there was nothing to do but watch his lips form the words, knowing those lips would soon be on my skin. His voice was like I had thrown in everything delectable into one of my pots on the fire; honey, wine and the rawest of sugars. "Come over here."

I turned obediently, feeling my blood hum with anticipation, and again I was in his arms, his mouth on mine as he led me to bliss. And with the bliss came the realisation that I did not have to ask anyone at all about the top string of the lute, nor the first suck of the melon. I did not have to ask, because I was shown.

* * *

We had a week. One week of dizzying, desire filled nights and days where we barely saw each other. We would rise before dawn and wash, something that had me clapping my hands with glee the first time Bard showed me inside the washroom. It was ingenious to me; somehow pipes had been constructed that allowed water collected from the River Running to be released into a bucket over a fire, meaning that warm water was only minutes away. I had only to pull a handle, and water would soon flow out. I had seen such technology a handful of times and only in Rhûn, where the palace gardens were watered by canals.

"This is a luxury indeed," I said with a shake of my head, grinning with wide eyes. Bard delighted in my childlike amazement and kissed the top of my head.

"Can every house in Dale have such a thing?"

Bard tilted his head, thinking over the question. "Possibly. Although it would take a lot of work, but the levels go lower so it certainly could be done."

And so I went off each morning imagining how we could entice the skilled hands of dwarves to work with us in creating such things, and then I would be brought back to earth with a resounding thud when families would stumble into the hall, hungry and tired after fleeing from the orcs that were slowly coming ever closer. Bard was no longer mine and I was no longer his, and we would go our separate ways, the King to the soldiers and the Queen to the families. It was harrowing; some of the children arrived alone, eyes wide from the horrors they had seen and I had quickly learned to gently push Tilda towards the kitchens to work with Birna so as to not have her see the shivering, scared little bodies huddled together, clutching siblings or parent's clothing. How had it come to this? Anger bloomed within me when a girl no older than ten summers came into the hall late one evening with a tiny baby bundled up and crying, rooting for the mother's milk that would never come again. No longer was I a woman of Dorwinion; such suffering had made me a woman of Dale, and if I was its Queen then I would be as a lioness protecting her cubs. I sent for a wet nurse and Birna came to quietly take the older girl for a warm bath and a meal. I stood outside the hall in the fresh spring air, rocking the child, letting it suck on my knuckle until the wet nurse came hurrying up the hill, already pulling open the buttons to her dress.

I fell into bed fully clothed that night, shivering even though it was hot. It was the only night that we did not spend lost in each other, though I woke to my shoes neatly placed to the side of the bed and the tight laces at my back unlaced so I could breathe easier. Even during sleep, he cared for me.

The night before Bard was due to ride out came too quickly. Childishly, I thought that it wasn't fair – we had been married for less than one week and already he would leave, though I would have loved him less if he had stayed after all that we had seen. My own uncle had come to me with a stern face, telling me that he would leave with the men of Dale and that Alvar would stay to help bring in the livestock from the outer fields. It was like a knife to my stomach, but who was I to deny him his wishes when my own husband would be riding out in front of him? There was nothing that could be said and so he left with a soft kiss to my forehead, bidding me try and sleep and that he would come to me again in the morning.

But we barely slept that night. The atmosphere within the hall during the evening meal was subdued, the men and women were quiet. There was no doubt that Hilda was right; we had to have the wedding when we did, there had to be some hope. On that last night, more couples came to us for blessings for their own marriages, and even though the hall was quiet, the alehouses were rowdy with the celebrations. We left early, and I lay in the bed alone for a long time while Bard sat with Tilda, telling her stories until she slept. Sigrid had bolted the door to her room hours before armed with parchment and a quill, something I would not begrudge her, and Bain was sleeping in one of the tents below the city with the archers of Laketown.

When Bard came to me I rose to meet him and threw another log on the fire, warding off the strange chill in the air. We undressed each other slowly, and for the first time I was able to look at him fully, run my hands from his shoulders down his stomach, marvelling at the hardness of his waist. My hands took me around his body, smoothing over his skin, there was no part of him that I did not touch. It was shameless and honest, but he was my home and I lived to nourish him, cherish him, to discover everything that lay hidden. He was mad on tenderness, his arms soft as they encircled me, pulling me against him to feel every inch of his body. I wanted to speak, I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that when he returned he would find me like this, loving and waiting.

But for a long while, words did not come.

We kissed until my mouth was almost bruised, and I knew that when my lips would touch the rim of a cool drink in the heat while he was gone, they would ache from his attentions. And my wish was granted: within seconds we were in front of the fire. His mouth moved from my lips until his head of black hair was bent over my chest, suckling on the tender skin and I was sighing from pleasure, there was nothing to do but twist my fingers in his hair and devour the strange, sour taste when he raised his head and kissed me again, slipping his tongue into my mouth, still tasting of the perfume dabbed between my breasts.

When I guided him to me, it was with steady, patient desire, but the second that he was within me I was lifted up, my knees on either side of him as he knelt on the furs, head tipped back as again he lowered his mouth to my breasts and I cried out so loud that I feared we might be heard. There was no way to anchor myself, no way to control but to let myself drift away and feel the fullness that came and went, came and went, and each time I groaned he raised his head as if to check that I was still with him, still present, his eyes gleaming with delight. He took hold of my waist, cradling me against him and again we lay down, his calloused hands raising my hips to meet him until my legs were shaking and his kiss silenced the startled cry from my mouth when the waves broke on the shore and I was dizzy, so dizzy.

Replete, he let his trembling body lie softly over me, and when we managed to drag ourselves into the bed and fall on the white linen sheets, he drew me to him and kissed the lines of tears on my cheeks.

"Did I not say that I would come back to you? Do not fear for me."

I clung to his shoulders and buried my face in the crook of his neck, unwilling to see the steady resolve on his face.

"You will come back to me," I said quietly.

"I will."

Hours later in the darkness of the night we moved together silently, and when we woke in the morning he was still lying over me, still inside me, and when I felt his desire rising for me again I let my head fall back on the pillow and took quiet joy in savouring the feeling of my husband buried in me, memorising it so that it would comfort me in the lonely nights ahead.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

This has been my favourite chapter to write thus far, but also the most difficult. Above all thank you to my lovely friend Lystan for being the beta for the most important scenes here, and so patiently reading through everything!

Lyrics within the wedding feast are from 'Satisfy Your Woman'- Paul Kelly.

Welsh weddings still have the capturing of the bride traditions, though not quite as energetic as in this story. I had a bit of fun writing it, it would have been more realistic (and possibly more Queenly haha) on a horse, but nothing gets the blood pumping like a bit of a run.

Because I am torn between romance and lust with the Bowman, you may choose to listen to either Bill Whelan's 'Reel Around The Sun' or INXS 'Need You Tonight' while reading this chapter, ha!

I've said before that I take Dorwinion to be a mix of cultures, think Mediterranean and the Eastern (Persian) influence. The Ancient Persian Empire was absolutely massive, so that's not so farfetched. The fountains in Rhûn that I'm referring to could be found in Persian palace gardens, and for Anne's dance I was thinking along the lines of Andalusian Spain mixed with a good old dabke.

RedstalkingDeath - thank you! I hope you like this one. Yep, lots of insinuations and waggling eyebrows on that night that's for sure! Did you skip anything? Haha.

IntotheMoon - ahem! ;-)

Debatable-cerealkiller - I was laughing while writing it, I'm glad the feeling came across lol!

Victoire - Wow, what can I say to that? I've read your review a few times, each time feeling warmer! I don't know what h/c means, but I hope that this has given you what you wished for. Did you just give them a shipping name? I think I love you.

Violet - for you, my friend!

Enjolras - done! Thank you.

VirgCoup - Lol, I have such fun researching for this story!

Lystan - Thorin loves your face.

XstaticBlueSoul - I try ;-) And I hope you do love this one!


	30. Chapter 30

"Your heart is heavy."

The words rang out in the cool morning air, though I did not stop my pace.

"Aye." I gave a short nod and continued walking the walls, stopping at each turn to stare into the distance at the clouds gathering in the sky. They came ever closer – how could such devilry be possible? It seemed that as soon as the army had ridden out, the sky had darkened. Yesterday, the sky was full of grit and dust, and I walked with a cloth held over my mouth. Today, the sun seemed almost in shadow. The dust had been blown away with the warm winds, but this darkness… this was not summertime. It was almost the middle of the day, yet it was nearly as dark as dusk. There was no reason to be outside – the changing of the skies terrified me more than any hushed voices or worried mothers did, but I could not bring myself to leave. Erebor was safe, secure; it was also a formidable stronghold, and we had all been taken so deep into the Mountain that there was no hope of watching the horizon, scanning the farmlands and hills in the distance.

"We have seen such things before," Dis said quietly. "And it will not to do wear your legs out by midday."

Slumping against the wall, my back to the East, I nodded. "You are right, of course. How did you come to be so patient?"

"Patient?" Dis barked out a laugh and came to stand beside me. She was dressed for practicality, in a forest green tunic and thick leather arm guards, similar to what her sons had worn when they had begun to march away from the city, proud and stern. Her black hair flowed freely but there were two distinct warrior braids on the sides of her head, and her golden belt took all of the sun that was left in the sky and reflected it out, casting dancing lights over the walls. It was as if Thorin was with me, staring out to the East, a silent figure of strength.

"For Fili and Kili," I said suddenly, touching one finger to the end of a braid. Her eyes slid over to mine and she nodded.

"Aye."

The curt assent was a relief; Dis was a fortress, she had become a pillar of strength to me in the three days since the men had gone, and it was no small thing to know that she was just as worried as I. Or even more so, considering it was the dwarves of her blood who fought beside the man who had my heart.

"Balin wishes for you to return," she said finally, turning to face me, mouth curving into a slight smirk. "He says that he does not wish to test the promise of your husband, and would you please for the love of Mahal come inside?"

One look at her quirking mouth had me snorting with laughter. "You know, no one has told me what this famed promise made by my husband actually is. You have all used it to put the fear of the Valar into me, and yet I am none the wiser. Are you going to enlighten me?"

"Bombur will if I do not," she grinned. "He is not far behind me."

At that, we both turned to see the large, smiling dwarf leaning against the back of the royal house with his arms crossed over his chest. "Your husband," he began, stressing the word with a wink that wobbled his cheeks, "reminded everyone before he left that the three women of Dale are to be protected at all costs, under pain of… well," he shrugged, "pain. Lots of pain."

"Lots of pain?" I cocked an eyebrow. "My husband is a peaceful man. Words over fists and all that." Though there was no denying that Bombur's words brought a thrill to my body that I had missed for three very long days.

Dis covered her mouth to hide another smirk and Bombur clapped his hands together. "Last time I had words with your husband, _Queen Anne, _I was climbing out of his toilet with the smell of fish in every crevice. Let's not test him, hm?"

I was never going to do anything other than sigh and jump down from the walls, wait for Dis then walk back with her to Erebor. This was the third day of waiting; there had been barely any news thus far, though a messenger came riding into the Mountain every night. The news was seemingly good, though it left the dwarves who had remained with us uneasy.

Bombur and Balin stayed with us, though the rest of Thorin's original company were marching with the two Kings, proudly bearing the standard of the reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor. I had watched the dwarves move out of the city, for they left before the Men of Dale and Laketown who followed on their warhorses. The dwarves and men seemed to me to be unstoppable; our standards rippled in the breeze, the soldiers were fierce, whether they were dwarf or man. All were armed to the teeth; Bard looked even larger and stronger than he normally did, in a mail shirt to his calves, the engraved leather vest covering his chest and shoulders was as thick as my wrist. And if he saw how my jaw was clenched to push aside the weeping that threatened to overcome me, then he said nothing, choosing instead to curl his fingers around my arm before he turned and mounted his horse, his silver wedding band glinting in the sunlight.

It was harder to bid farewell to Bain; he was not as wide as his father, nor as tall – as much as he was a man, his eyes were still young, still half filled with innocence despite all that he had seen. One stubborn tear fell when he knelt before me in a gesture far older than the original walls of the city he was fighting to protect, his head bowed as he waited for my own palm to touch his head of dark brown hair. I blessed him as I would my own son, and it was not only the Valar that I called upon to guide him, but the spirits of my mother's kin, spirits of sand and of war.

"Anne?" Sigrid's quiet voice cut into my thoughts – it had been too easy to lose myself in the memory of Bard and Bain, though that would end now that we had returned to the Mountain. There was much to do, and it had not escaped my notice that the dwarves went often to the armouries and spent long hours in the training grounds. It was as if they, too, felt a blooming fear in their bellies, though there was one difference between my fear and a warrior's – they could fight, and I could not.

I took her arm and drew her along the main walkway until we began the slow descent further into the Mountain. "You did not have to wait for me, Sigrid."

"Well, you did not take me with you," she said, bristling with frustration.

"What would you have me do? Your Da said-"

"Da is not here, is he?" Our steps paused as she unwound her hand from my arm. "Da is not here, no one is _here _and I do not _like _not knowing what is happening."

There was barely anything that could be said to appease her – my own thoughts were often dark for much of the same reason. I rubbed a tired hand over my forehead and felt a small smile paint itself onto my mouth.

"The messengers have been bringing news, and it is all good," I said finally. "That is what we have, that is what we know."

With strength I did not know she had, she took my arm and dragged me back until we were facing one of the windows that were carved into the side of the Mountain. With a finger pointing at the blackening sky, she scowled and ground her teeth together.

"And do you believe the messengers?"

"Of _course _I do!" I answered her shortly then swallowed, unwilling to lose my temper when we were in the same boat together. "They say that the army has encountered large bands of orcs, that we have had no casualties. That the largest force they have come across so far numbers only two hundred or so, a tiny number compared to us. That the further East they go, the less they find."

Even to my own ears, the words sounded like folly. Sigrid nodded very slowly and pursed her lips.

"Then perhaps they are marching the wrong way. Perhaps all of this time they have been marching East when they should have been going North."

"North?" I felt a grip of fear and my face paled. "The Cold Lands? How would you know such things?"

"I don't," Sigrid said quickly, waving a vague hand in the air. "Really, I don't. It was… It was a guess, that's all. Just a little guess."

"Then do not speak of such things." My words were curt but not unkind, and soon I took her arm again and we walked briskly back down the walkway, down more and more stairs until the air changed from fresh to cool. Brushing aside the unpleasantness of being so far within the depths of the Mountain, I led her into the chambers that we were sharing with Tilda, nodding to the guards at the doors. Bard's youngest daughter was nowhere to be seen, though she had scrawled a little note to say that Balin had taken her to the library. Blowing out a long breath, I peeled off my over dress and sat in front of the warmth of the fire; close enough to Sigrid to keep a hold of her arm.

There was no restraining a shiver – we were safe enough in the Mountain, but Dale? The Elves? Bard? How were we ever to know what to do? Any Eastern woman worth her salt knew the Cold Lands – some of our own stories spoke of the cursed places within Forodwaith; Angmar, Gundabad, Mount Gram, the dragon lands of Withered Heath. We in Dale were so very close to such evil, but surely we were strong enough to defeat such things? Though it was one lone arrow that had smote Smaug, and he had taken Erebor with carnage that had left it vacant for over a hundred years. We had no black arrows; we had no wizards to warn us off far off armies… what could we do against such reckless hate?

I stared into the fire until I saw the flames behind my closed eyelids. Sigrid's head was resting on my shoulder; how many hours we spent lying in such a way could not be known, for it felt like only minutes before my eyes snapped open to a chamber as black as night. The fire had died – Sigrid was not beside me, and when I held out my hands to try and feel for a way to support myself to move around the room, I could not even see them.

But that was not what made me take a sharp breath in as a shiver ran down my spine at the unmistakeable feeling that I was not alone.

_Bard… _His was the name that echoed in my mind, even until a sudden rush of air near my head had me ducking and running blindly in the blackness, hands outstretched until rock hard arms took a vice like grip around my waist. _Away, away, away_ was all I could think, but no sooner had I thought the words then a low voice whispered in my ear and a warm, small hand closed firmly over my mouth to muffle my cry of shock.

* * *

My husband was too far to hear the word that I had screamed, though it had only torn through my mind and not my lips. But he sat up with a jolt anyway, eyes blinking as he searched for who had called his name so late in the night. He rose and lifted the flap off the tent open slightly, and frowned in confusion when he saw no one bar Slecg, who had taken the first three hourly shift. The bear of a man stared at Bard for a moment, but as soon as he opened his mouth Bard shrugged and rubbed his forehead.

"S'nothing," Bard said quietly as he watched the movements around the camp. The men and dwarves were camped together, some still awake in the dead of night and others sleeping either tucked into their cloaks around the fire or in one of the few tents they had brought with them. They were not far from the outer edges of Dorwinion, and the worst of the confrontations had happened only the night before, when they had ridden hard to meet a group of at least two hundred Orcs, though the corpses had now been rolled carelessly into a dug out ditch and covered with stones. No crops would grow over such filth, and my husband knew without a doubt that such remains would poison the waters if he disposed of them in any of the nearby rivers.

"We've been lucky," said Slecg finally, seeing that Bard was not about to return to his bed. "Too lucky almost."

Bard scratched at his beard absentmindedly and nodded slowly. It hadn't escaped his notice – any true battle should have had him awake to the groaning sounds of injured men, yet it was almost peaceful in the stillness of the summer night. Warm, the air carrying the heady scent of the nearby farmlands. Dale would be smelling like this, his daughters would have carried the same scents with the summer flowers in their hair. And Anne…

"Aye," he agreed eventually. "And it's too quiet."

But it was not quiet for long, and soon not one man nor dwarf was sleeping soundly in their cloaks or bedrolls as the scouts thundered through the camp, shouting in terror for the Kings.

* * *

"_Dis_?!"

I stared at the shadowed dwarrowdam, rubbing my arms to bring the feeling back into them.

"No time for that, Anne," she said briskly and hurled me to my feet in the small antechamber that led away from the bedroom that I had shared with Tilda and Sigrid. Her face was whiter than usual, though her lips were pressed firmly together and not once did her hands shake the way mine currently were.

"Dis, explain to me what-"

"No," was her curt reply. "There's no time. Take this, now!" She shoved a black cloak into my hands and a bundle of clothing. I recognised my own riding tunic and leggings, but her scowl had me pulling off my dress in an instant as I changed into the riding outfit.

"Tell me what is happening," I demanded, fumbling with the tunic and grinding my teeth at her noise of impatience as she pulled it roughly down over my head.

Finally I was dressed and she pulled me out of the chambers and into the corridors; they were deadly silent. My guards were nowhere to be seen. Fear had me alert immediately.

"Listen to me," she began, her voice lower than a whisper, the quake of terror at the end of it stopping my protests at once. "And do not speak." I nodded numbly.

"Scouts have just come in from the North – I do not know why they were even so far from Erebor or the army in the first place, but they have come. They tell…" Dis paused, swallowed, and then squeezed my arm. "They tell of a force of thousands, Anne, please-"

"_What, _Dis?" I clutched her arm in a panic. "You tell me now, are we in danger here? Will you have me take Bard's children from their beds to their deaths? Why have you come to me like this?"

"No. _No._" Dis shook her head adamantly. "You are safe here. No one can breach the doors once they have been sealed – friend _or _foe. But it is not for Erebor that I have wakened you, nor for Dale."

She was willing me to understand; I could feel the fear in her as I saw the town that she could not bring herself to name in my mind, swallowed by flames.

"Laketown," I breathed, raking a hand through my hair, wrenching the fingers through a knot. "Laketown and… oh Valar, no, Dis, tell me no-"

"Hilda," Dis nodded once. "They have not yet come to the Mountain; they said they will come if required. The men of Dale who stayed have gone with the horses to bring the women and children here, but we only have three hours or less before they come, the scouts rode as fast as they can but…"

"Devilry guides them," I said with a shake of my head. "The skies…"

"Aye," she said quickly, already pulling my arm through the corridors. We stopped two or three times, and once I knew that there were footsteps behind us, though they soon faded. "They need every rider, Anne, there are not enough men to bring the women back, and Mahal forgive us but you know as well as I do that a dwarf cannot ride a warhorse. We do not have time-"

"Of course I will go," I whispered furiously. "Do you think that a week's old honour of a crown would-"

"Anne!"

"Sorry," I muttered when we paused again, hanging back in the shadows as a group of dwarves rushed past, armed for battle. "Dis – are you going to be safe here? Tell me the truth."

"I will be," she said firmly. "And you will too, when you come back. Ride quickly – bring children before anyone else. The shores are not safe; you must bring them to Erebor."

"Alvar," I said instantly, digging my nails into her arm. "Tilda, Sigrid…"

"Your nephew has gone to Laketown. Tilda is safe; Balin has sent extra guards to your rooms. Sigrid will be fine. No one will be in any danger, Anne, but you must ride quickly-"

"I know, I know. But you will _swear _to me, Dis-" I took dragged her into the faint light of one of the torches wrought in silver and knelt to be level with her, not caring in the slightest that I would be gravely insulting her. "You must swear to me that you will keep the children safe. Swear it."

Dis grabbed my arms and pushed me to stand again and glowered. "You do not need to demand such a thing of me. I would protect them with my life!"

"Good, then," I said, drawing the cloak over my hair to cover my face. There was no way on the Valar's green earth that any guard would allow the Queen of Dale to ride to the aid of Laketown, not at this moment, and so I turned to Dis.

"Thank you," I mumbled, and threw my arms around her neck in a fierce embrace. "Thank you."

It was over before it had started, both of us pushing the other way simultaneously. "Quickly now," Dis said lowly, her eyes shining with emotion. "And come back with wings if you must. Go!"

She did not have to tell me twice. I pulled the cloak down further and strode quickly down the corridor, through a door and onto one of the main walkways before I came to the stairs and took them two at a time, pushing past the burning pain in my side when I reached the top. The main walkway was blazing with torches and dwarves were everywhere, though there was no hope in distinguishing one from another thanks to their helmets. More than once a shorter and slightly more thinner figure would pass as they marched out of the Mountain, almost always followed by a hand reaching out to squeeze mine as I hurried past – one woman to another. Dis was right to have given me the best disguise she could manage; as soon as I reached the main doors to see the chains oiled and taut, ready to be pulled to have the great barrier closed to all, I knew that I would have had no chance of getting out without her help.

I took one last look at the safety of Erebor, then, ignoring the rational side of my body that wished to propel me back into the fortress, I began to run down the long stone road, not stopping once until, bent over and heaving, I arrived at the great gates of Dale and slipped inside, darting down an alley to catch my breath away from the main street that was filled with horses and soldiers.

And of course that was when I noticed that I had not come alone after all, for my shadow was far, far too long. I waited with a scowl as my heart thudded furiously then whipped around, staring at the figure that was frozen behind me.

"What on _earth_ do you think you are _doing?_"

.

.

.

* * *

A/N

I've written a little something to make up for this shorter length – feel free to check out "Firedance", a Bard oneshot under my profile. I wrote it with Anne in mind, but haven't named her in case you, erm, want to imagine yourself ;-) Would love to hear your thoughts. It was written to take place in the week between the wedding and the departure of the army.

Bard also has a bit of a scene here. I've done this before with Fili/Sigrid in Erebor, and felt that there needed to be a bit of the bargeman in the chapter, despite not being physically there. Let me know if it didn't work, as he might need another one soon.

"Reckless hate" is of course from Theoden's TTT words. Because, well, yep. Rohirrim. ;-)

IntotheMoon – me too, to be honest!

Lystan – I looooove you.

Enjolras – thank you lovely, done!

XstaticBlueSoul – I'm glad you liked it. I was going to dedicate that chapter to you instead but thought the more innocent one beforehand might've been more appropriate, haha!

Violet – Hmm. Hmmmm. ;-)


	31. Chapter 31

_Forgive me for my absence! Blame writer's block and a terrible newfound addiction to another fandom. *hangs head in shame*_

_We are 1-2 chapters away from the end, my friends. This is part of the reason for my writer's block – I've enjoyed this so much that I really don't want it to finish, but finish it must and finish it will. Forgive me for not attaching the review responses here – I shall do so via PM for signed in users, and for guests, know that I am very, very glad that you took the time to share your thoughts on this story. As we get closer to the end, I'm finding that it's fantastic to see so many interested in a Bard story – the lack of attention he gets is almost as upsetting as the canon ending of the Hobbit! So I am so bloody happy that you're all loving him as much as I do!_

_Thanks to the minx who has been a mix of beta and whip wielder, Lystan. There have been some who have messaged me about the way Thorin is represented in this story; I'm glad you've liked it, and can I point you towards Lystan's '__**Destinies Entwined'**__ for a Thorin that far surpasses mine. Really, he's truly wonderful – the perfect mix of the honourable Thorin that we love and the mischievousness of his nephews. Head over and enjoy it! _

_Some canon notes; in LOTR, the main gates to Erebor were destroyed during the Battle for Dale, though the doors were not breached. The Hobbit films didn't portray the Mountain in such a way (with gates), though I have done so here._

_._

_._

* * *

Fili was tense, the result of spending the entire night with his fingers clenched on the reins of the boar he rode. The land flashed by them in a morbid way, dark and black - any fires they found along the way were snuffed out and the villagers responsible for them ordered back closer to Dorwinion, away from the borders of Dale and the normally protective arms of Erebor.

Their assumptions had been nearly entirely incorrect; they had planned confidently with the belief that the threat they faced would come from the North East, where the fertile lands of Dorwinion made way for the no-man's-land between the wine grower's country and the arid deserts of Rhun. Mahal, even Bard had had his men on the trail for weeks – it should have alarmed them that there was no trace of Easterlings, only the disgusting stench of Orcs, considering the land the vermin were traipsing through. But they were inclined to see what they wanted; the great Battle five years previously was like the blink of an eye to a dwarf, and even Thorin desired to simply ride and snuff out the head of the beast, cut it off with an axe. They were wrong.

He rode harder, pushing his mount to its limit, thankful that they had had the sense to take remounts. It was nigh on insulting that he was pondering whether or not he was ready to abandon his beast and move to share the saddle with Bain, whose Eastern warhorse had not even tired yet, but he would sooner lay himself down on the hard earth beneath them to be trampled than to not have the chance to defend his motherland and Sigrid. If he needed to share a saddle like a youngling, he would.

Sigrid - sweet, beautiful Sigrid. His intended, his betrothed, his wife in all but formal documents and flowing signatures. He risked a second to close his eyes; there was no need to conjure her face, for she was there at every waking and sleeping moment, always sharing the sweetness of her smile. Sometimes it was shy, sometimes daring – daring was always the moment just before she leaned close to press her lips to his cheek, or run a finger over the braids on his beard. Beautiful, beautiful Sigrid.

Spurring on the beast, Fili now rode between Bain and Thorin. And yet they did not make up the head of the army. No – that was Bard, racing as if death was snapping at his heels, a mere shadow far ahead amidst the men who made up his guard. The army was behind them at various points, some riding hard enough to stay with Fili and the others, the rest not pushing so much so that they could arrive with more strength if needed. The messenger had suggested, with a tunic soaked in the sweat of fear and exertion, that they would need such strength before the end.

Before what end? Thousands of Orcs were storming for Erebor, again looking for its position and wealth. Gritting his teeth, Fili growled into the night at the thought of Orcish steel coming so close to his mother, his family, his betrothed wife. Mahal be his witness, he would dive onto his own sword before such a thing would be allowed. Beside him, Thorin grunted in acknowledgement, understanding where his nephew's thoughts were. Kili was riding behind them, and his answering laugh was chilling to the bone. He was mad on the lust for a fight, angry at being deceived and incensed that he had allowed it to happen. But how could they have known?

This Enemy was the same as always – the growing darkness that had confronted them only a few short years before. Again they were coming in their thousands, though somehow the mindless Orcs had managed to be cunning enough to create a smokescreen; they were guided by evil, something that had every man and dwarf on edge this night.

Dwalin was no better – Fili was no fool, he knew the feelings that the warrior had long buried for his mother. Beyond that, and beyond what the woman herself knew, Dwalin was just as bound by the way he cared for the wife of the King that rode in front of him as if possessed. What Dwalin saw in Anne, Fili could only sense a little of; kindness, understanding, and a gentle heart. But for the warrior dwarf, he found in the new Queen of Dale a kindred spirit: a woman far below the station of the one who held her heart, a woman that had managed to hold onto her intended with both hands until they were bound in marriage. Dwalin rode for the Dwarrowdam that held his own heart in her hands, not that Fili would ever betray the warrior's honour by ever hinting that he was aware. Perhaps Anne would not be the only one to claim her love.

Dwarves loved only once in their lives – Fili had found his Sigrid, and he would not let her go. Not even Orcish steel would take her from him, or him from her. He had vowed it in the betrothal documents, though he doubted that anyone had read them bar wrinkly old councillors considering the documents were thicker than his own thighs. It was disconcerting that his mother may have the chance to have such happiness again; such a thing was not known to dwarves, and Fili suspected that Thorin would never allow it. And yet, the King of Erebor had within his heart secrets that Fili knew not – Mahal only knew what his uncle would truly think of such a thing.

"Fili," Thorin's low voice cut into his thoughts, startling him. He turned to his uncle and nodded shortly, unable to trust his own throat to answer without cursing. "We need to stop, change the mounts, and rest a while."

"We will do no such thing!" Kili shouted from behind them, hissing in anger. "Time is not on our side. We are almost halfway there, Uncle; we cannot stop now."

"What would you have us do, then, nephew? I will not have the army slaughtered in front of the walls of Erebor – we almost lost it because of such recklessness, and now we must arrive strong and ready to crush the filth that threaten us. No Orc shall be allowed to walk away unscathed and for that, we must rest. Only an hour, Kili."

Thorin's tone allowed for no dissent, with the exception of the men. There were two Kings in the army, and Fili watched with interest while Bain pressed his lips together firmly and mulled it over. It seemed like an age to Fili, until the Prince of Dale gave a shout to his father and the army of Dale slowed along with the dwarven warriors. Bard was scowling when he led his horse back to where his son was, the steaming breath of the black warhorse giving light to the features of the King. Both men stayed on their horses, issuing orders for the rest of Dale's army to do the same unless they wished to change mounts.

"Avoids stiffness of the legs," Bain said offhandedly to Fili, who nodded slowly but slid off the boar all the same. He offered no explanation to the young Prince, and Bain merely turned back to his father.

They spoke in low tones, at times mirroring each other though they were not aware of it – Bard scratched at his beard and slapped his thigh as his voice rose with anger and frustration, and Bain ran a hand over his mouth every now and again, clenching and unclenching his fingers on the reins. Fili held a wish that he could do the same – let his fury show as clearly as Bard, whose grim expression did not change once from his constant glower, yet he had spent more years on Mahal's good earth than the two men put together. Thus, Fili was calm and efficient as he tended to the boar and downed a generous mouthful of water before seeing to the rest of the army. Thorin watched on with approval etched into his sharp features, while Kili bounced off to the side, notching the same arrow again and again.

As he walked between the dwarves with Dwalin seething silently at his side, Fili returned their murmured greetings with a hand on his heart, stopping every now and again to clasp offered arms. He concentrated on the way his feet fell, how the heavy boots made impressions on the grass beneath, long flattened by trader's wagons and traveller's footsteps. Bard knew this road from his recent trip to Dorwinion, a luxury Fili would never have had, though he did not begrudge the man from it. The world of men was far simpler than that of Mahal's children where duty was paramount, to land before one's heart. And Fili knew better than most how lucky he was to have his betrothed wife, the fair woman waiting for him to defend her and her kin.

He would defend her – to his last breath, if Mahal decided that it should come to that. Already he loved her so that it gave him an unpleasant ache in his chest to imagine Sigrid defenceless, huddling with Tilda and Anne and his mother in Erebor. It eased somewhat with the knowledge that she _would _be in Erebor – even Orcish steel could not penetrate the great doors of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, yet if they were to fail, the women so dear to his heart would be left to starve.

For a moment, his steps faltered and Fili paused, swallowing roughly as he stared into the night sky. He could not fail – _they _would not fail. The time difference between their arrival and the Orcs could mean that Laketown may burn again, that Dale might need to be rebuilt, but they were travelling fast enough that they would arrive only hours after the opposing force. His love, his Sigrid, would be safe inside Erebor already; his heart would be safe.

Fili walked on, and looped the reins of his remount around his arm before leading it to the head of the army. He mounted, and settled into the saddle to wait for the call to ride again.

.

* * *

.

"What on _earth_ do you think you are _doing?_"

Sigrid fixed me with a challenging glare and jerked her chin up, her brown eyes flashing with determination and anger. It was only intensified by the shouts and hurried, heavy steps of any able bodied soldiers and extra riders that we had left in Dale, thundering out on the road to Laketown. Every second that passed us as we stood in the dark was a second wasted, and I found that I was pulling her along with me as we climbed towards the royal stables, preferring to wait for her explanation on the move. There was no time at all to send her back immediately; she was bristling for an argument, and there was no doubt that I would say something I was bound to regret if I did not accept her presence for the time being.

"The same thing that _you _are!"

"No," I said immediately, reaching out to her with a pleading hand. "Sigrid, please – your father would-"

Sigrid swatted my hand away and cut me off, "Da would have something to say, no doubt, but I'm not asking permission from you." Her voice dropped its fierce undertone, and she returned her fairer hand to my hold. "You're not my mother, Anne; you're my friend. So we shall either do this together or you shan't see one wink of me. The choice belongs to you."

There was no denying the calm strength in her voice, nor the way it shook with fear at the end. The juxtaposition mirrored my own so well that despite the anger and frustration I felt flooding through me towards her, I tightened my grasp on her hand and pulled her roughly behind me, counting on my dark plain clothing to disguise her finer dress. It worked only too well - I could pass easily as a stable hand with the hood drawn well over my face, and Sigrid had had enough sense to don an old, rough looking cloak in the dark blue colour of Dale's army, marking us as close to commoners as we were likely to get.

"Fine," I hissed and only whirled around to stop when we reached the stables. It was an unexpected blessing to see that a number of remounts had been left untouched and I was in no mind to shout our presence from the rooftops for fear of more lost time. "But I will say this to you, Sigrid – listen to me and do what I say and if I tell you to leave, you shall leave _immediately. _Do not think that I won't find the next man on the road to haul you back to Erebor if you so much as endanger one hair on your head."

My fierce demand was met with a stunned silence, and then Sigrid's hand curled around my arm.

"Yes," she said simply. "I know."

* * *

The stream of women, children and men with hair so white it glinted in the moonlight seemed never ending. Yet still, we did not stop. We could not stop.

Sigrid rode behind me on the old, gentle horse she'd used to ride to Erebor; it seemed like years had passed us since that day, passed as quickly as the soldiers that thundered back and forth between the Mountain and Laketown.

It was slower going than I wished, and I could not spur my mare Edelind on any faster; already she was carrying my weight, and that of Brand, the young boy that had taken me under his wing in Laketown for the wedding of Hilda's daughter. Esme's round figure was perched behind me, and Brand was shivering in front. There was no respite for any horses that night, for as soon as we reached Erebor, one wordless glance between Sigrid and I had us galloping back down to the wooden town on the Long Lake.

Hilda was safe; the wife of Laketown's Master was commanding her people with the ease of long years running the market. She knew me from the moment I dismounted to cradle Brand in my arms and run him inside; a kiss to my cheek from the older woman was enough to convey the order to be safe, and there was nothing I wanted more than to push Sigrid through the doors and have them close before she could run out again. But she would, and so again we rode to Laketown and ran hand in hand with heaving chests to drag the remains of families out from the houses on the water.

"Where're the rest of the women?" My question came out in a hurried shout; I could not push out enough air and with relief so sweet it felt wrong, I stopped and folded over until my hands were on my knees while my breath caught up with me.

Sigrid was at my elbow in an instant with a skin of water. She held it at my mouth with an insistent frown until I took three mouthfuls, then she shoved it back into one of the pockets of her skirt.

"Your fear is the same as mine," she said lowly, drawing us into the darkness away from the running soldiers. "There should be more. You know that many fought in the Battle?"

"And they may wish to again," I surmised, pulling at the end of my braid roughly. "Where are they? In their homes?"

"Together, I'd wager. At the back of town, near the boats."

"Why haven't the soldiers thought of it?"

"Men wouldn't," Sigrid said fiercely, pulling her hood back on to cover her face and waiting while I did the same. As soon as we were covered again, the hunt resumed and our boots pounded on the wooden planks. "The men wouldn't understand the hopelessness of it all."

"And Hilda?" I pressed with a gasping breath, taking heart from Sigrid's squeeze of my hand. "She didn't say one bloody word."

"She wouldn't," Sigrid returned over her shoulder as she led us deeper and deeper into the poorer end of town. "It's honour, and pride. And I do not even think they will listen to us."

"Then we cannot give them a choice," I said grimly, taking in the house we had stopped in front of. Dirty and old, the wood was rotting in some places and the only hints that it was occupied were the faint sounds coming from inside – there was no fire lit, no glow shining through the windows. Taking a deep breath, I tested the handle and wrenched it open when we found it unlocked.

It only took one step inside the house, black as the night sky above us without the fire, to find myself thrown against the now closed door with a thin knife at my throat, the kind that would cut open a fish with ease.

"Peace, peace," I managed to squeak out, thankful that Sigrid had been pushed back outside. She was sensible enough to claw at the door rather than shout and draw more attention to us, and the knife left my pulse point as soon as my words were said.

"Anne – you ruddy fool!" came a cry from inside the house, and the moonlight illuminated the face of one of the fishwives from Hilda's daughter's wedding. "You could've been fish bait, coming in like that; silent like a wraith you were. Now go – get on with you, and don't you tell no one that we're here."

A quick glance around the room showed a pitiful amount of fifteen women, armed with meat cleavers or fishing knives, arms crossed over their chests as they glared at where I stood in the doorway. Only Orcs themselves would have had more luck in silencing me.

"No," I said shortly, then darted out to grab a hold of Sigrid and push our way back inside. "No, you hear? I shall not. Enough of this – gather what you need, and come with us."

"Dragon shite," a black haired woman swore vehemently. "We won't leave our town. Not again. We've nothin' and you will leave us with nothin' again with your high and mighty words. Get you gone, Anne – and you, too, Sigrid. This is no place for either of you." She spat at our feet, voice laced with venom that would have had me backing up against the wall if Sigrid was not already there.

I understood their impatience, and even Sigrid was chewing on her lower lip, torn between following our duty to the women, and stepping back to allow them free rein. Or, that is what I thought – Sigrid proved that I thought wrong.

"No."

Her words were flat and strong, standing out against the muffled shouts coming from outside as the urgency increased. Time was running out, and an ice cold bead of sweat ran down between my shoulder blades.

"No?" the black haired woman echoed, eyes narrowing. "Who're you to say 'no', girl? We know who you are – you're Bard's girl, but that means nothin' here. You either stay and fight with us, or run back to your Mountain and _wait._"

The emphasis made it seem like to wait was dishonourable; cowardly. It struck the wrong chord with a woman with blood from the desert sands, where cowardliness meant death by land or man or both. Letting out a hiss of anger, I bared my teeth like a cat, or the pard that I wished I was.

"Shall you have me tell your men your fate, then?" I took a step forward, pushing my hood back until my face was completely bare, my darker skin and black hair marking my foreignness, hoping that it would make up for the fact that I barely came up to the woman's chin. "Shall I tell them that their wives are dead? Their children motherless? All because their women were too _pig headed _to know when it was time to leave."

It was cruel, and it was horrible. It was needed.

Sigrid cleared her throat and opened her mouth, her voice clear and true, "I won't remember your names. Mark my words, I won't tell anyone who I've seen here and don't you think for one second that anyone will remember what you did. All I'll say is that you left your bairns and left them alone while you killed your own selves with naught to say for it."

The reaction to her words was immediate and enough to pull Sigrid behind me with a hand reaching for the knife Dis had carefully hidden in a pocket of the tunic. "Come now. Come away with us," I demanded. "Enough of this foolishness. Your men will be needing you when they come back."

And that was enough. Duty to their husbands pushed them out of the teetering house, albeit reluctantly, until they were running like thieves in the night, fast enough to catch the last of the soldiers riding back up the hill. With a shout we called back the men, who swore with words that not even my uncle would have known, and yanked the women unkindly until all but two were securely in the saddle.

"Get up," I ordered the black haired fishwife, gesturing angrily to the saddle. "Get up, or I'll leave you here." _Gods forgive me, _I added silently, knowing that I would remember my cold heart for years to come – if we even had years coming to us at all. A necessary evil it was, and I saw the woman in a red haze while she dithered, then finally nodded. _One more woman saved. _

She scowled and hitched her skirts, then placed a dirty boot in my cupped hands, hauling herself around the horse while I pushed her up. It was small consolation to see that her legs were bare and her thighs would chafe from the leather of the saddle; a tiny prize to win, when she had so nearly cost me the chance to deliver Sigrid safely to Erebor, and then to Bard and Fili after that.

With Sigrid and her own fishwife, we pushed the horses to their limits and galloped towards Erebor. There was nothing to think of but the man that would be coming for us – the husband I had had in my arms for only a week. Such a short time, and still there was no way to forget the long arms that snaked around my waist in the early hours of the morning, the hands that made pathways ever downwards with a surety that left my mouth dry. _Oh, Gods… _how I missed him. The warmth of him, the astounding knowledge that he loved _me,_ that he was _my own. _Bard was my safe haven, and he was not here. _Let him return to me!_

"They'll sweep 'em down," the woman behind me said strongly, her voice so cold that I was wrenched out of my memories shivering.

I did not answer her; in this, at least, we were bonded in our wish that her words would be true. And so she continued while we rode, saying, "Just like they practice sword thrusts in the field. Slashing and hacking. And the arrows of our archers will whistle and paint the sky black, lady, just you wait."

"Do you believe that I deserve your kindness?" I asked curiously, leaning further lower, murmuring encouragement to the mare. "After what I said?"

"S'not a question that needs answerin', lady, but of course you do," she said with a pat to my shoulder that almost made me fall off with shock. "Your husband's out there, too. Some of those dwarves carry maces, did you know that, lady?"

"No," I admitted, forcing my mind to understand that this was not a time for laughter. "No I did not."

"Aye, they do. Great swingin' balls they are, they can knock an Orc's head clean off."

"They'll run from us, then," I replied, hoping with a wife's hope that it was true.

"Aye," she said softly, the word barely carrying over the thunder of our hooves. "They will, lady. You'll see."

* * *

It was only when we threw ourselves through the closing doors of Erebor that I was struck with the wish that I _did_ want to see it – I wanted to see my husband charging, mad with fury, bent on returning home to his children, to me. I wanted to see Bain, the boy who had become a man in front of my eyes, who had knelt for my blessing. And I wanted to see Fili and Kili, Thorin and Dwalin.

I sat huddled with Tilda, Sigrid and Dis. Alvar stayed at the door to the great lower hall that was filled with people, his hand on his sword and his face tilted to the upper levels of the Mountain. The sound of Orcish steel against the doors made of stone rung in the air, and their cries and hisses of disappointment and calculation reached even us, kept so far down that the air was as cold as winter's snow. We sat and we hoped beyond hope, recounting stories to the younger children of the fearsome warriors that were coming to our aid. For hours we sat, until the thin thread of dawn announced another day. Still we sat, terrified as the dawn heralded another day of darkness that was enough to keep the filthy creatures useful as they tried to find ways into the Mountain.

Together we sat, and together we waited.


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: H**ere we are at the end! I am very sad… I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to Bard, but he insists that I leave him be at some point. Bugger!_

_Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this story, and written to tell me how much they liked it. Honestly it's been my favourite story to write out of all of them and I have you all to thank for that._

_This ending is almost entirely full of fluff. I think, at the 32__nd__ chapter, that we deserve that. I also wished to remind everyone that the Battle depicted in the Hobbit was not the last war that Dale had to fight in; during the events of LOTR, the Battle for Dale was won by the King (and Dwarves, etc) but it was a fierce fight. In the end, though, the light prevailed. It was long after our Bard's time, but I could not resist subtly referring to it. I also never intended to write the Battle scene mentioned here; my knowledge of weaponry is not good enough to write a detailed enough chapter, so it was always the plan to go straight to the end._

_Again, thank you for taking part in this journey. There are some plotlines that will remain open, and intentionally so; not everything will be resolved, and as much as Anne thinks she might, she doesn't actually know everything that happens behind closed doors. She does try, though ;-)_

_I wanted this to finish in the same way that it started: simple, and focused on our pairing. Thank you all, a thousand times over._

_Here we go._

_Oh, and before I forget! There is another Bard/Anne fic that I've written called 'Firedance', if you are having withdrawals. Just a small one, but there all the same._

_._

* * *

For all of my brave words and stoic expressions, the moment that the armies of Dale and Erebor entered the Mountain to the music of cheering crowds and joyous wives, I was a common woman once more.

We were all common women. After all, it wasn't every day that one can proudly say that her husband (and I have always laid the success with Bard much to Sigrid's indignation, smug wife that I am) defeated an opposing force of thousands with barely any casualties to speak of. Bain explained to me much later, with bottles of sugar and honey strategically placed around the dinner table to show the formations, that steel did not necessarily equal skill, and so the victory came swiftly and relatively easily.

Dis broke ranks first, enveloping her sons within her arms and squeezing so tightly that Kili began to wheeze. Thorin was treated to a fierce embrace and a cuff on the back of the head. Sigrid, Tilda and I greeted them as best we could, yet not even Fili managed to keep his eyes on his betrothed for long for she soon gave a loud shout and hitched her skirts to run through the lines of Dwarves when she caught sight of Dale's blue standard bringing up the rear.

I pushed Tilda forwards with a light jab to her lower back, but hung back still, drinking in the sight of Bard kneeling on the stone between the great doors of Erebor as his girls threw themselves into his arms. My eyes were as if parched, and each time I caught glimpses of his smiling, laughing face buried in their two heads of chestnut coloured hair, it was with the relief of filling myself up again, knowing that he was safe and here and whole.

The crowd began to thin as the Dwarves made their way deeper into the Mountain, ready to be welcomed officially back to hearth and home. No doubt the ale would be flowing freely and the lamps wrought from silver in the Feasting Hall would be lit for many nights to come. Fili and Kili bowed in unison over my hand, wearing matching grins when I batted their propriety away and knelt to kiss their cheeks. Thorin, his cheeks suspiciously pink, accepted a tearful embrace while I tried to convey the overwhelming sense of relief coursing through my body. Dis rescued him as cleverly as a sister well trained in the arts of removing her brother from hysterical women could, earning herself a bark of laughter from the King of Erebor and a shy titter from my own mouth.

I found Bain first; or rather, he found me. Towering over me more than his father ever would, he knelt with a teeth baring grin and bowed his head, accepting my two shaking hands on his hair that blessed him and thanked all of the Valar for returning him safely. He rose and tucked my hand into his arm like he was my anchor in the roughest seas, then led me to Bard.

He knew me at once. Now, like the night of the first Feast where we danced together for the first time so many months ago, I could recognise the sight of his searching eyes as he looked at each face. When they landed on my own, the gleam of triumph and love spread from my belly to my flushed cheeks, and when he took two quick steps and snatched me up with a booming laugh, it was with delight that I kissed each of his cheeks and finally his mouth, his tongue already tasting sweet from wine and mead. Between kisses, he was laughing with glee, twirling us around and around like a stable boy and his sweetheart.

When finally he set me down and tucked my hair behind my ears, thumbs smoothing away the tears of joy that were already spilling over, he bent his head and whispered into my ear, "Good Gods – that I should feel like this for a respectable wife and Queen."

"_Your _respectable wife," I returned with a giddy, shaking laugh. "And you made me a Queen. Now I must behave like one."

I was lulled like a milkmaid by happiness and longing, and it was all I could do not to push my hips into his body. The lids of his eyes were heavy and hooded, and he granted us a brief moment of reprieve by drawing the blue cloak of Dale around our bodies and clutching my arms to kiss my hands. An unspoken promise hung heavily in the air.

* * *

Much later, we left by a side door in the Feasting Hall and I ran slowly, emboldened by love and wine, laughing all the way as my pursuer paused every so often to grab my hand and drag us to darkened alcoves. The taste of him, of iron and mead and sweat, was to be my undoing that night as we fell into bed in a haze of desire. I mapped his body with my hands and pushed him away when he reached for me, content to reacquaint my fingers and mouth with the heat of his chest, the strength of his arms.

Many buildings in Dale had been damaged, though Dwarven skill meant that Orcish steel did not make nearly as much of an impact as the Dragon. And so all homes were liveable, if not wholly pleasant, though the Dwarves had granted Dale use of Erebor for as long as was needed. Laketown was barely damaged at all; only the bridges had been cut, and the Men of the Lake would resolve that soon enough.

I counted Thorin's generosity for a good thing, as our own chambers had an adjacent bathing room filled with water from the hot springs. That night I waved away the attendants and washed Bard's back with my hands, managing only a small squeak of surprise when his arms deposited me gently into the water with him, disregarding the simple linen dress that was now on the floor, a sodden mess.

"Were you afraid?" he asked, bringing my body to sit within the space between his knees. I leaned my back against his chest and turned my head to breathe in the scent of his skin where neck met shoulder.

"Only for you."

"Not for me, foolish woman," he muttered, tempering his tone with a kiss to my hair. "For _you._"

"No. How could I be? You were always going to return."

The movement of his body as he chuckled made the hairs on his chest tickle my back in the water, and I moved to lie sideways in his arms to better see his face.

"I was afraid for you," he admitted quietly, tipping his head back so it rested on the rim of the bath, away from my smile. "For you and Sigrid, and Tilda… and everyone else. And it was harder than before, when we were all fighting together. I could see the children, then. But this time, I could not see any of you… I didn't know…"

I shook my head and turned to face him, rising on my knees so I could take hold of his chin with my fingers and bid him to look at me. When he finally did, it was with a gentle touch of his mouth to mine.

"We were fine. Your daughter Sigrid is as fierce as Dwalin when she gets going." I told him the rest of the story of the fishwives in Laketown, glad that he could see the humour in it now that he knew we were safe. Still, he was dumbfounded and did not speak for a long time, preferring to pull me back to his chest while he stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

Eventually, he came back to me and closed his eyes as I poured a jug of warm water over his hair. When he spoke, it was in a whisper that I had to strain to hear. "I could have lost you."

"No, no," I said, taking his hands. "Remember, before you left? What you said?"

"Aye," he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Tell me," I pressed, moving behind him in the bath to cradle his body between my thighs. He let out a small groan of pleasure when my hands kneaded the tired muscles of his neck and back, before his own calloused fingers began to wander under the water.

"I told you that I would always come back to you."

"Aye," I said firmly, articulating the word like the women in the alehouses, with no room for disagreement. His shoulders shook with silent laughter. "And have you ever failed?"

"Never," he responded at once. "I lost you once, and I found you at the ends of the earth. I would never fail you."

The smile stretched that across my lips was almost painful but it would not abate. "Dorwinion is hardly the ends of the earth. But it did feel as if it was."

He silenced my laughter swiftly with a kiss, and when his tongue slid into my mouth at the same time that his hands coaxed our bodies out of the water, the seriousness of our conversation was lost to sighs and moans, covered now with desire and lust instead of fear.

* * *

As soon as the houses of Dale were restored and the measures put in place for the farmers to return to begin working on getting the crops ready again (for our homes had been saved, but our fields were burnt and smelt of smoke for weeks on end), Sigrid and Fili were married.

The betrothal period was disregarded, blatantly so, and Thorin and Bard both presided over the hand fastening of the Princess of Dale and the Prince of Erebor.

She was resplendent in a gown of Southern silk and covered in precious gems and metals that Fili had moulded to his whim with his own hands. Her cheeks were warm and her eyes down as she submitted to shyness, though it was not long before the cheers of the crowd and the bawdy jests sung much later had her laughing, a sound that rivalled her beauty in its lightness.

And after so many months, so many years of waiting for such a thing, I knew the love that a mother has for her children. How could I not? Bain had become the son of my heart if not my blood, and Sigrid the young woman that I loved as a sister and a daughter in one. Tilda, after weeks of relearning each other (try as I might, I was not the same woman she came to while I was a cook, compared to when I shared a bed with her father) became my dearest friend, despite her age.

And what of my husband? What of the man that stood at my side and tucked his arm around me as we watched the newly married couple dance and sing?

When Bard spoke to me, I still struggled to gain sense of his words. I was lost in watching his mouth form words, in guiding pastries dipped in sugar syrup between his lips, knowing that I was the only woman who would reap the benefits of the way the sweets would warm his blood and feed his soul.

For his soul, and his heart, were tucked inside my own chest, safely ensconced within the bones that had once protected my own heart. It lies with him now, with the man that came to me as a man alone and confused, and now warms our bed at night with passion that still sets us aflame. There are days now that still I wish for Bard, the bargeman or the bowman or the farmer with a field of hops. Just as I know that sometimes he wishes for Anne the confectioner or Anne the girl who walked around the large oak tree and wished for love. And yet, to have such things would be to return to a time where I did not have the surety of a wedding ring on my finger, nor he the knowledge that he would come home to a wife each night. I found that in the end, I did not mind leaving my trade for my husband; having him for my own far outweighed anything else.

I still cook; in fact, Sigrid has gone to her wedding night with sugar in her blood that was brought to life in my old little kitchen. Tilda and Birna assisted me, and were it not for Bard, I would be despondent because I know that the day will come soon when Birna will cook in my tiny kitchen and wear the apron I used to wear, creating sugared treats that will bring her the heart of the man that she, too, desires. Now she dances with Bain, and I know that her dreams will come to her, the way they came to me.

Bard's hand is tighter around my waist, and I lean into him and give a gurgle of laughter to watch my cousin Alvar and uncle Iohan cavorting in the middle of the dancers, twisting and turning in the way of Eastern men. Bard's fingers are digging pleasantly into my waist and his mouth comes to my ear, warm breath ghosting over my skin as he says, "What is this, wife? Are you looking to hide something from me?"

I turn my head to the side and bite my lip. "I am hiding nothing," I reply in a whisper, offering him a shy smile when his hand leaves my waist and splays widely, protectively, over my growing belly.

"How long have you known?" he asks, voice threaded with excitement. His hands on my stomach are shaking.

"Only for a week… I wanted to be sure," I say, covering his hand with my own. "I wasn't sure at all, really… I don't know who to ask about it. I didn't want to ask the healers, it seemed a bit too soon…"

In truth, I haven't asked because the loss of my mother still aches, and now that I am facing this without her, I cannot bring myself to take any steps on my own.

My husband's reply is immediate and confident. "Oh, but I am. I am sure."

"Are you now?"

He puffs his chest out, making me snort with laughter. "Do not forget, wife," he says, placing a quick kiss on my cheek. "I am a father three times over. I know what it is to see my wife with child."

There may have been a time, long ago, when I would have shrugged my shoulders and grown cold over such a thing. But now I make my own walks down to Laketown and toss flowers into the Long Lake, sending quiet thanks to the woman who made my husband happy for her time. He is a gift that I shall never grow tired of.

"And when do you think this babe will come?" I tease him, smiling coquettishly as if he is the King again and I am the woman hoping to win his love.

Bard tugs my hands until I am standing in front of him, and both of his arms come around to my belly. He lets his chin rest on the top of my head and each warm breath out of his mouth sends a curl to tickle my forehead.

"In six or seven moons," he says thoughtfully. "Though I am not quite sure on one thing…"

"Oh?"

"Mmm. A lad or a girl… it is a most difficult question to answer."

I have longed for this. This is what I have desired; simplicity that is found in peace and comfort, with a husband that touches my belly at night to work out where the head of our child is, so that he can try to answer his own questions with tales from fishwives. Some nights he is sure it is a son, but I know it in my very blood that there is a little girl waiting for us. A girl with wild curls and eyes that are as rich as the chocolate Bard still begs for almost every day. She will be our little girl, and she will know life with the other young women that I am blessed to have as her sisters. Her brother will protect her with his life, until his own children join her to play in the fields.

And her father will let her run through the hall of the Royal house; she will sleep between our bodies at night, and when she spends days with Sigrid in Erebor, I will return to my husband with furtive embraces and giggling whispers.

I know all of this, and late at night I tell such stories to Bard until he moves over me, and calm, if not quiet, descends upon us. He is the warmth that I crave and now he heats my blood. I do not need sugar. His skin is the edible, sugared fruit that I once created; his mouth is the syrup that would cover my pastries. And his heart remains mine, until we will have another tiny little person that will share it with me.

I first met the King of Dale on a cold afternoon. Winter had begun to seek its teeth into the city, spreading itself over the golden covered buildings. Now, I call this man my husband; we share the same cold afternoons, and winter still makes its presence known when it wishes to. Yet there is sunlight, still, that graces us within our private chambers each time we awake. I am superstitious enough to believe that all of those years of circling the oak tree as a girl have finally become fruitful; after all, I have now the man that I wished for long before I understood that such a person could even exist.

For us, the light shall always remain.

* * *

_fin._


End file.
